Whiskey

You come neat

Two cubes of ice, straight

Slow burn

Sweet silky fire,

Complete.

A sip, a lingering 

Hot coal dancing on my tongue.

Bourbon

Dashing

Smoldering

A yearning.

A slight twist up north,and you’d be Whisky.

Straight.

Your arms linger,halfway between my neck and my chin,

A slow burn

I cannot run,

So, do your worst

Two cubes of ice.

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