“Two ice cubes, in glass of whisky, doing what they can to stay whole,
an hour after you abandoned them. Done for the night with drinking.
The loudest sound, a red clock ticking like a friend uttering, “Make a move.”
Two guys snoring like it’s a competition,
or a song their lungs are jamming to.
No sound from the quiet tent out back;
It’s a four-man tent housing six,
like a bloated croc’s stomach.
And you there. In the bedroom alone.
In that awkwardly fitting  red shirt you were tugging all night,
like you couldn’t wait to get it off for something more comfortable.
And it got my mind thinking.
of you there, in a room alone, with that shirt gone.
The clock still ticking, like, “Make a move.” – Charles Bu-Lameski.