The poetic word is potent.
Like one hundred and seven proof
bourbon,
it makes me drunk.
Plenty of pages of prose
are distilled in
a single
stanza.
It is irresistible as
I swirl it in my mouth.
Sniff it.
Taste it.
Breathe it in.
I hold it up to the light
to peer into its soul.
With voracious appetite,
I invert its glass until
the
last
drip
slides
slowly
south
onto my silver
tongue.