Sin, gin and skin
We were the Tuesday night poets,
we shared words with the writers and the poets,
we shared words with the lonely at the Irish tavern at Pacific Grove.
You and I,
we called ourselves the sin, gin and skin poets.
We sang our words out-loud about love-lost and love-gained.
You were a beauty with the Alaska Winter heart and
I was the dead man walking.
You told me often.
Johnnie, thank you for the gin, the sin and you.
You never tell me stories and hold me tightly when I am lonely,
accepting me, ugly face and all.
I told her.
“Some folks love “Love”.
Some folks love the gin and
some folks love the sin.
Barren heart accept less,
just waiting for a wish and a miracle.”
She smiled and she brought me close.
Maybe too late for love, maybe time for friendship my love.
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