Bourbon II


brings out the shadow
in me;
conversing with reflections,
discussions reflective
of future cracked
glass sheets
through me;
spurs in my side,
kicking me awake
on ceramic cold,
cold as ice.

A song I once remembered
buried deep in the night
blurred, slurred and
spilt on the memory
strings, played with
concentrated effort,
but never fully replicated.

Love is palatable,
a palette of potions,
burning and barking
up my throat,
driving the devil
to my tongue,
the bitter barrel
of Bourbon.


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