Friday, March 29, 2013



The cap breaks
to the left and spins
loose on the table
like a drunken top.
Is the rush in the ritual
or in the result?

Three cubes,
no more, no less,
dropped one at a time
with bombardier
precision from above.

There follows the muted
as the amber liquid
escapes the bottle,
and the pressure pop
of the ice as it welcomes
the whiskey.

Pavlov is affirmed
as the scent of Speyside
malt and smoke fills the senses
and light dances and refracts
through the diamonds
and gold in the glass.

The familiar bite
against the lips wakes me,
and I emerge like a penitent man
from the confessional,
absolved and ready
to sin again.  



Claudia said...

love how you capture the sound, scent, shine..something dangerous and comforting in it..

Natasha Head said...

Okay...this wanna-be needs a drink. Whiskey is a devil...and does a fine job of raising them too. Sinful!

Brian Miller said...

clean and ready to sin again...ha...the endless the appreciation given each step of the process in this...putting us there...and if i close my eyes i can taste it by the smell...

Other Mary said...

Suddenly I'm thirsty....

Amy Everett said...

Miss you