Champagne and IPA

Alcohol tells the truth,
Inscribed, etched at the rim
Of every bottle, words put to lips at the swig.
Believe nothing you hear. I could drink to that.
Squeaking bed springs
Stifled giggling
Are not the sounds of jealousy,
As the hearer expects, but simply
Of discarded champagne bottles and reruns of Whitney.
Believe half of what you see.
The first eye glances, skips
Like a needle on a record
Revealing half of what it should.
Lying under the blankets, sleeping.
The second eye shows the truth, if you bother to use both,
Makes the correct half of what you’ve seen.
Two shapes, under the blankets.
Neither sleeping.
Another bottle is ordered.
Can’t wait for more brilliant words of advice.