Clearing the Cupboard

My only thought on love resembles this: From such a distance I was nearly there, I watched a couple strip each other bare. They did a shot and shared a slobbered kiss, and it was smooth and it went down like bliss. He was the younger of the stumbling pair, (she had a thing for youth, that saucy mare), and twenty-seven drunk in thirty-six conceives in thought a Marci’s likely fixed. Besides of which, she didn’t seem to care, and even arched her back to get him there - to where the chromosomes of rum are mixed. And so this couple, then, got shotgun hitched, where he would drown like me, in a bone-dry ditch.