Aquarian Curse

It is the moon the weed Monk's Dream and a tin cup of bourbon swilled down within seconds of the sweats. It is shared champaign between the loser and winner of a barroom brawl. Worse they become lovers. Their fights ritualistic like hoo-doo with accidental real blood sacrifices too much emphasis on ownership balanced somehow with complete freedom. How I wish to find someone with the same kind of broken. Just for me to be able to feel the words they utter to connect and know.