Another Poem

The Devil Talked Back

Been almost eight years
since you slid your fingers
around the neck of my body.
Do you miss me?

While you’ve been gone others
have enjoyed my smooth syrup,
mixing with elixirs, easily swallowed,
using me until night’s end. I don’t mind.

For you, I wait. I sit within my dated
barrel and age—the older the better
they say.

Some enjoy me sweat and sour, or
with sugared cherries—Manhattan please.
Or, perhaps a Sidecar. No matter.
You know me best, naked and neat.

I don’t feel ignored by the absence of
your touch. I know your blood flows thick
without me. Yadi, Yadi, I know you think
about me everyday. Just one more taste.

No-one will know, it can be our secret.

I can hide behind the linens in
your closet; The backseat of your car;
In the bathroom on the airplane—
mile high club?

Is that too much? Go on then, let me age.
I know you like a challenge.
I am everywhere. I’ll be waiting.

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