Of whisky and promises or (For the love of whisky)

The fan creaks slow and the calendar waves as if to say hello,

Whilst gladiators on TV fight it out.

The ice melts and turns brown becoming one,

like passionate lovers in a final embrace.

With hearts filled with lust and loins burning with carnal desires,

They juxtapose in holy union.

“We meet once more old friend”, they must say.

But they are not alone, for a ménage à trois awaits them.

A third wheel, he is not.

For joining them is their old Romeo.

A Romeo living on the balcony with his two Juliets.

“Clink, Clink”, they whisper to him as he holds them in his palm.

They go down him like warm sunshine on a cold winter night.

“Aah”, he moans.

He sits back to soak it all in.

Their journeys’ like the opposite ends of a prism;

One so young, the other so old.

One so white, the other so bright.

“You’re so misunderstood, both of ya’ll”, he comforts them.

“Don’t worry, for I will love you till the calendar ends”, he assures them.

“Many false gods came to me”, he confesses,

“and accepted them in my youth, I have”, he continues.

“Wayward I was, have mercy”, he weeps.

“I discard them tonight and forever pledge my allegiance”, he swears.


Ironically, written sipping on vodka.

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