Hands chase carnal sips.
Of your sun drenched whiskey skin.
Cask made drunken lips.
A flaming shot glass.
Claims my parching thirst for you.
Real slow, make it last.
No mixers, just straight.
Feel the burn stirring below.
Hard rocks penetrate.
The sauce flows quicker.
As it splashes from the well.
More lust to liquor.
Not some cheap whiskey.
Top shelf, Gentleman’s allure.
Just a bit frisky.
Pure grain alcohol.
Marinate in the numbness.
We’re high, after all.
A stupor drunken.
We slur, “It all started with.”
A kiss of her skin.
Advertisements
Marinate in the numbness….love that line. Great second picture too.
Thank you for taking the time to read and enjoy. Oh yes, the second picture is very nice, I can actually envision it being from one of your writes I thoroughly enjoy.
Love all the analogies in this! “…It all started with a kiss of her (sun drenched whiskey) skin…”
Thank you dear. Glad you loved it all smiles here 😉
Reblogged this on Nights of Mist and commented:
I love to drink so I can relate to this perfectly. Beautiful poetic style and imagery