Chin by the night of the first soiree

By JC Nigado

By the night of the first soiree

Chin was the very first

Who engaged me like turtle,

Walking merry on a wire

That burned with fire and water.

Stagers call him “Pusit.”

Is it because of the ink

He pouts and spurts dry?

Or is it because he stains

And stinks their bland desire?

Tell me whatever is so

And I’ll believe you never

Because I’ve felt and known

Chin’s chin in sin or holy

With gin, brandy or beer.

By the night of the first soiree

We measured each other friend

A scale that for days weighed

Weeks, months, ever years

Until the night of the last soiree.