Maker's Mark
“That’ll hit it’s mark.” He thought as he purchased the bottle.
With a hint of melancholy, he thought of whiskey,
And the past, and her.
Knowing the toasts tonight were two fold
To her and away from her.
Medicine to numb the heart and smooth the needs growing
In his loins, deadening the want he had and the life he led.
Cracking the neck, he poured three tall fingers neat.
“To her, to her return, and to our reuniting.”
He washed it all past his lonely, talented tongue,
And stoked the instinctual, animalistic fire that grew in his belly
Gnashing, tearing, and howling for release.
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