Love Drunk

This piece started at my grandmother's breakfast table, and ended in a whiskey glass. It's about wanting more than what's easy, waiting for what burns true, and knowing that some love stories are better aged with time.

“You held out for champagne, and didn’t even get beer.” My grandmother says to me one morning over breakfast. But I don’t think I’d like the bitter aftertaste of poison, slipped in one, versus the other. I’d rather wait for whiskey To mature in the barrel - Expanding and contracting with time, The Angel’s share a smoke signal Guiding me towards his scorching burn. If I must drown in my desire, I’d rather it taste like aged fire.

New Poems. Shared Blood. Ongoing Stories. Share so others can follow.

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