Whiskey

Whiskey

She danced alone on the dance floor at the Jazz club. Moving her body with a gentle ease and making every movement of perfect long legs, wonderful womanly curves and hips. Permanent tattoos upon my memory and my eyes.

I went to her. She fell into my arms and she asked. “Am I your sweet red wine my love? Am I sugar and spice? Everything nice?”

I whispered to her. You are not soft and easy red wine. You are demanding and greedy. You make my quiet nights, turn to wild and untamed places. You are fire and ice. When you are near. I yearn for your body near and I want to have your fingertips upon my skin and your wanting mouth to digest me and make me know death and fire.

My pretty lady , you are my whiskey. Hard and rough on my body and soul. I yearn to taste you and my sweet baby. I know the payment for loving you. Top-shelf whiskey is tasty, smooth and demands everything.

John Castellenas/Coyote