the serving of drinks: misreading the movement of the wrist

dearest ligature:

i write this to inform you of the state of our union.

we follow diphthongs and call them tuesday brunch (no responsibilities but to our own poached intentions and creme fraiche).

we open doors, we uncork bottles of 10am champagne. as a child i imagined intimate inter-weavings of curve and corner. my aunt and uncle called me lolita and i thought it was simply a name they liked. lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tail trailing from mandible to the cratering peninsula between ilia.

when serving a traditional morning punch, the pitcher's handle should fit snuggly in the hand so as to survive any grand gestures of the arm. while bent at the waist, bent at the knees, offer a bit of helpful information. "Here's a little phrase for you in the German language: 'essen mein scheiße, fraulein.'"

we are partners in a multitude of sins, and it is only when forced to pause and take a stalk from the glass--to cross and uncross legs--that the view from beneath a skirt can be captured in our paper and ink engagement. there are many desires between the here and the there, and inevitably a discussion of opportunity costs must periodically surface: well-seasoned, plenty of heat, don't go easy on the vodka.