Ode To The Fly In My Beer

You dance, body propelled by bossa nova, across the lips of a warm Corona. The buzz of rum, hot on your breath - you whisper to yourself, lost in the Spanish cantations, the quick taps of the electric piano. You fly unevenly (sometimes in loop-de-loops) through the night on tattered wings that carry you from drink to drink samba to samba finding happiness only at the bottom of an empty bottle.