Drunk off wine and life,
we shovel ceviche
by the half-pound down
our throats, tortilla
chips like earth movers
tiling tart lime juice
drenched bits of snapper,
onions, tomatoes,
serrano chilis,
and avocado
into our waiting
bellies of hunger.
Surrounded, friendly
faces contorted
and laughter stricken
dole out anecdotes
met with choruses
of thrumming laughter,
mostly playful gibes,
and ad hominem
terms of endearment,
but these sweet nothings
mean more instantly
than dearer buddies.
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