Impro with stout- by Juan M.S

Inspired by random words …

Would you risk yourself for a beer

from a fridge in Malibu?

Or are you too hooked to newspaper news

while you cushion your absence with postcards?

There are no candles nor menus in this restaurant,

just sex offers on a dirty blackboard,

and there’s just a wheel to my bicycle,

so let’s paint our ceiling with a full palette.


Her lips were tightly shut; the transient shade of the flame

could be seen through the lampshade.

Her slips-ons were off and the bathroom cabin open.

Her night gown had unfolded on the bedroom floor

and the curtains were drawn.

A bow hat hung from the wooden candlestick

on her bedside table.

She had born with his light humor about zipping vaginas

and pubis signs that were more significant

than those of the stars in the universe.

The flame in his groin had burnt out and her mouth

and thighs were just the spoils of a lost battle.

Here is your gown” said he, handing the shirt to her.

He was covering his shame with the sheets,

but looking her in the eye.

Good night”, said she, shutting the door behind her.

He only laid back in bed and got asleep.


I'm a writer born in Argentina, but currently living in Poland. I work as an English and French teacher, translator and copywriter.

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