I stand with my eyes closed
Imagining your breath slowly steaming my eyes
The moist breeze in my neck
Makes me shiver and get closer for warmth and comfort
Longing your touch
Longing your voice saying my name
The bottle of whiskey steams too
In your breath of appreciation.
I’m jealous!
I don’t taste like peaty exotic honey.
Do I make your lips tingle like her?
Please swallow me in slow sips,
In between the fast chords of your guitar, like you do to her…
Take your time in my sweet lips too
And then leave me again…
Put me down on the table, waiting for another thirst spell!
I’ll just be watching you play.
In the dark cold nights of deep introspection,
You can swallow me in big gulps
I’ll make you dizzy and dazed,
With lost loose thoughts of ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’.
I’ll make you feel better.
But I know I just won’t wash your throat with the same warmth
I know I just won’t make you long for me the same way.
(A poem for a Burns Night competition for Malt of whiskey- submitted on 28th January 2024)
