#A little whiskey won’t hurt.#
ideally, it would be all
[desperate hands, arched backs, ‘n stifled moans]
a limited printing of my affection–
–transitory
#A little whiskey won’t hurt.#
I love you the way autumn winds cradle a falling leaf,
great and momentous between tree and ground,
and brief aimless flutters thereafter.
I am far too vast to comprehend myself,
you are too vast to be comprehended.
#A little whiskey won’t hurt.#
I’d rather be a cold front,
‘n an unseasonably warm weather pattern,
meeting for a breif ‘n beautiful hurricane,
this ain’t carpe dium;
it’s just makin’ the best of bein’ lost without a map.
#A little whiskey won’t hurt.#
