An ode to the busy mistress Ethanol.

On your lips, my name is beautiful
as though your breath possesses it
Hot with passion—to love and hate—
Thick as a mystery still silent

On your lips, my words haunt me
—as though my conscience whispering
cold as apparitions in the snow
when just this hemisphere is sleeping

On your lips, are mine
        in wet detail
The memories of another life
so vaguely familiar…
 

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