A whisky blend, cubes end to end, one mind to tend, million demons to fend. Unmade, I ruminate, on unions mentally celibate, flaccid, unconsummate, these thoughts reverberate. The stars are out, silently shout, for hope they scout, my eyes voice doubt. Tired walking, my mental feet, on the past tense street, bygones are easy meat, my next peg, maybe neat? #Unmade #YoPoWriMo18 #yqbaba
