Pickles, Gin And The Unicorn

She continued to suck on the Pickle
The hit of spice was long gone
What remained was an aftertaste
Much undesired, the taste alive
That with which Ennui was made of
So, she drank Gin, chasing the Pickle
She knew it wasn't wine or even brie
But she had to kill the taste
The clink of ice brought her out of her reverie
Mildly buzzed, she dreamed a dream
Not of fairies, certainly not of Unicorns
Those beasts terrified her
She dreamt not even of Adonis in the clichéd garb of gardener
But of Pickles and glasses of Gin
And of romance woven out of Ennui.

She woke up in sweat, and planned ahead
Today wasn't right, and who knew where tomorrow led
For now, a dream lay dead
Gin soaked and pickled.