He sat down by the bar with a bottle of whiskey. And while the angels sang he listened to the preachings of a crooked bartender Whose days were filled with drunk forgotten nights, and he knew for first time that he has never felt more close to God.
She is making tea for her poet-husband. Wondering what her husband is writing. Once he wrote "Charm floats on her cheeks, like a paper boat on the water. Dipping and dancing." Or maybe he is writing something ***** on her. Like once he wrote - "Between her thighs is the temple where I belong."
She is making tea for her poet-husband thinking he wants to impress her again. She can hear his pen tapping his teeth. But she can not see whisky on his table and she can not see he is watching her sister as he writes.
Please like and support by following if you like this piece.
She found him Darkness and despair surrounding The colour gone from his cheeks Nothing left for him to seek Whisky on the table A beer in his hand She kissed him gently And he buried his head in the sand
darling, don't let them fool you with their sweet chamomile gold, perfumed coffee, elegant and attractive champagne or even sparkling, fun Cola. for you are not tea, their source of energy, their party flavour or their soda. they will consume you in an instant. because darling, you are whisky in a crystal glass. strong, liquid fire, unable to be understood by many, but oh, so addictive.