She holds the glass to her mouth
the liquid wets her closed lips
she moves the cup away
and then she slowly licks
the taste of whiskey
smooth then hot
burns her tongue
and soothes the spot
if she dared to breathe
her breath would likely
be of flame and fire
yet with her lips closed tightly
she flicks her wrist
and the liquid, smooth and hot
feeds the cauldron's burning embers
for she'll not drink another drop
#74
Copyright 2004 Nightingale
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/2074/33819 on Sunday September 07th, 2008 02:49 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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