my eyes are drawn
to your white lettering
and black label.
my soul is rather
fired up by that
substance inside you.
my lips,
by the taste.
“don’t do this to yourself, you’ve been good all this time.”
“you’ve been steering clear, you’ve been attending your meetings.”
i tell myself, as i reach in
my pocket and rustle through
the chips i‘ve collected all
this time as reward for
learning to live without you.
but ****.
that smell. the way you feel inside me.
the way you make my head shake.
the way you make me forget.
you taste of liquor, my dear, and i’m a recovering alcoholic.
oh ****, i’m sorry...correction.
was a recovering alcoholic.
so a toast,
to your wonderfully devilish eyes,
and to another relapse.
-melancholicreator
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