A hundred and three women

​Someone once told me 

That he had sex with a hundred women, 

A hundred and three 

To be completely honest. 

Between beers and white sock whisky

I asked faithfully, 

‘did you love any of them? ‘

‘ I don’t even remember their names 

They were all one-night stands 

Setting up wasn’t even a chance’

And straight up 

he drank all his wine. 

As I ordered another 

For the little man sitting 

Right besides me, 

I asked myself the same question;

All those late-night two-weeks long parties 

Those crazy partners 

Those sick nights of sex 

Love, poetry and whiskies 

Were they worth it? 

Was I better? 

Did I love any of them? 

I do think I loved every single women I touched 

Even if sex never happened 

Even if it was all pure humanism, 

But was I bad for not reaching for more? 

Or that was the deal

In a bottle of whisky sealed? 

Truth is, I love every single woman 

They all have poetry inside 

And poetry calls me down every time. 

So, I ordered again 

And here we became friends 

As the clock gave five 

And time, as women, had us tied up. 

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