Poem For Dragon’s Milk
I sit in the dark under a deep white moon,
lost in my 12% ABV thoughts.
I hear the hiss,
then cap-clink of me opening another bottle.
I move from patio table to Chaise–its origins in 16th century France,
it’s always everything french for me except the beer–
and lay back for moonbathing. No tan.No lines.
Of course, we all know that once upon a time paleness
suggested nobility. And, in this inebriated state,
who could blame me for my moonlit francophile fantasies,
although, these must be post-revolution
because there is no one here to get the beer I left on the table.

I opened another Stout
and poured the
darkness into the glass.
Maybe it’s the
creamy tan head
that makes
me feel safe from sunsets.

David Calogero Centorbi is a writer living in Detroit, MI. Published work in The Daily Drunk, Dreams Walking, Versification, Brown Bag Online, and Crepe & Pen. He can be found here on Twitter: @DavidCaCentorbi.