#cognac
The bar is dim enough
for ghosts to sit without being seen.
Soft lounge bass.
A woman’s voice on the speakers
complaining about how unfair wanting can be—
I know that tone.
I have lived behind that tone.
The bartender leaves the entire cognac bottle
like he already knows
I’m not here to sip politely.
Outside, the world is fences and fields,
people mooing across distances
they never cross.
But here—
the air is warm,
time moves like cigarette smoke,
and I don’t have to explain
what I survived to breathe this soft.
I swirl the glass, watch amber light spin,
and think:
If there were gods,
they’d sit here.
Not in churches.
Not in bright rooms.
But in the quiet places
where honesty doesn’t echo—
it settles.
I am not praying.
I am remembering.
The music says, it isn’t fair.
I say, it never was.
And yet—
here I am.
Still drinking.
Still breathing.
Still mine.
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
30 years of this and that
tea with cream and sugah please
the dress has changed
the color soft, the
panther walk returns
butchered biscuits sweet jam too
cautious crouch she roams the room
sitting perched a chatty chair
his cage lair fare
framing faces firelight
white glove distance dynamite
sippin heated cognac tea
they just gotta believe
speechless curtains cooling flames
she's easing into her humanity
dust drawn ellipsis sputter crack
his arm he almost reaches out
his meteorific muse starlight shade
conceptual covers commence
subtle surprise he's sittin sidetracked
his design devised, his
pipe dream purring panther
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC