take a bottle;

you tasted like single-barrel aged whiskey and if i were the sort to get addicted, i would’ve been addicted to you, that
heat liquidized down my throat in a slow molasses crawl
churning and steaming until it settled down for more

it’s too bad that yellow tail moscato came before and left the
impression of sweet, resting in permanence against my tongue
light but thick and syrupy, you were the residue that would not and could not go                                                       away

melancholy rests in the bottom of the bottle of bad decisions known as
jose and when mixed with moscato you are left with disaster in its wake
i still did it anyway and melancholy wasn’t the word for what i felt, it was                             just                                                                                                                            pain

avoiding steps 1 & 2 i moved on to cheap whiskey and you were the start of my cleansing, invigorated when the taste of previous viscous liquid left the sanctity of my being, whiskey was the start of something

single(-barrel aged) whiskey caught up to me slowly and it’s too bad that i’m not the sort to get addicted when
i was too busy already being absorbed by the first step to notice you refining yourself right here beside me


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s