"amaretto" poems
Our first date at Rise
Holding your hand at the Firehouse Theater
Eating bagels you brought back from Montreal
Having lunch at Salata
Going to the Arboretum
The way you peeked out children’s house
Cuddling on the couch
Watching Game of Thrones
When you fell asleep in my arms
Drinking Amaretto Sours
When you would be silly
The sound of your voice
The maraschino cherry stem you tied with your tongue
The Forget Me Not Flower Kit you gave me
Exchanging texts
The sound of incoming WhatsApp messages
Diner at Howard Wangs
You wearing bunny ears during Easter
36-28-41
When you posed for me
Your blues eyes looking up at me
Seeing your smile
Touching your lips
The way you smell
The secrets you would tell
Showing how you care
Hugging me tight
Letting me take care of you
When you cook Arepas
The gluten free Clafouti
The time you had the flu
Wearing Calvin Klein underwater
Your dainty feet
Your goddess like figure
Your cute accent
Typing in the door bell code
Hearing you answer
The emoji of puppy heart kitten
Knowing you are my Bijou
Calling you Minou
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:21 PM UTC
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Coffee-soaked ladyfingers
Sweet amaretto
Mascarpone, eggs, sugar =
thick vanilla cream
Layer on fingers
Dust cocoa
Chill!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
To Two Nonnas
@2007 Linda Barrett
We can't afford to go to Italy
So you both bring it to us
We hear in the music of your names,
each syllable coming from your mouths,
vocal chords and tongues
that dance fast Italian tarantellas
from your shared cubicle
You both should have been sisters
Born on the same month
And sailed into America
on the same ship.
You bring us Italy
through your cooking:
olive oil drenched cole slaw
made zesty with ground pepper and salt,
amaretto cookies placed on our desks
deep fried calamari rings
at the Willow Grove Bennigan's
and Italian restaurants
in a Maple Glen shopping center.
You both embrace us
with still strong Nonna arms
and crochet bright pink baby clothes
for expecting employees.
On the weekends,
you become bocce ball champs
in Montgomery County
where Italian is still spoken,
To uphold up the old country's heritage
This poem comes out
from our love to you
because just by being our friends
we want to save all our pennies
to see what Italy is really like.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC
I.
in this space without shadows,
i was a witness how this world became stranger
until it wasn’t mine. the memory of touch carries the torch,
through a deserted island, an abandoned house,
another girlhood turned ghost-town.
his sour amaretto mouth
closer, closer, closer.
saturday mornings i used to watch cartoons on the tv,
big goofy characters. these pictures come to me from afar
and dissolve into black lava,
at his hands cold metal sting.
with the tenacity,
i cling onto the hope of forgetting,
monuments were built for
gods and prophets.
so it goes.
somewhere in the world
mouths move around the filthy word,
forming the saddest companionship,
like two orphans who recognise each other.
II.
once upon a time,
i believed in a magic stronger than seduction.
why don’t we try to be less entitled?
after all, nothing was promised.
those of us,
attacked, assaulted, agonised,
in the sacredness of home,
in the public eyes wide shut,
fade into TV static noise.
how loud are the sounds of this
realism replica,
in bold letters proclaimed
now available:
FEMINISM!
(sold at every fast fashion retailer)
ALL GIRLS ARE BEAUTIFUL!
(but we still need to profit off your self-hatred)
LOVE IS HURTING
(why don’t you try to see his side?)
it’s nothing personal.
shame just happens to make good money.
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
Fine wine, your line of perfection, profile absorbed
Within the printed page, taking you away
I want to say “Stop and listen”, the minutes ticking away
To nothingness, we won’t replace, they are lost
Fine wine, spilled onto the page, blood red; it disgorges
Its ruby glow, seeping into page after page
You leap to save the page, now wet and unreadable
Looking annoyed in the process, what a pity
Fine wine, these minutes are ones to remember with irritation
Cursing the red stain instead of the intrusion as welcome to
The monotony of the dirge, Groundhog Day of stale breath
A profound chapter not worth reading; close the book on it all!!
Fine wine, legacy of a long held sameness, dawdling the
Hedgerows, cutting the quality of what could be into what isn’t
And so on and so forth, dragging feet and knuckles; skin
Peeling its life away scuffed and failing, our souls drowned
Fine wine, secretly savage, blood red, vibrant and exotic
Or bored, buried in the sand dunes, beige and baron, your bottle of plonk
Oasis a mirage, a delirium to reality, a pretence to soften the blow
Life or existence with a hint of amaretto warmth to keep afloat
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
your car doesn't have
a cd player
which is a little unsettling
but i don't really mind
your hands remind
me of my dad's
i want to wear dresses
play taylor swift
spray myself in
citrusy perfume
and paint my eyelids
a shimmery pink
when i'm with you
i feel safe
i'm not convinced
that soulmates exist
but i am convinced that
we pick up people on
our way through life
and some of them just fit
some people are habit
can't remember a
time without them
and some people are the future
what could be instead of
what's always been
you're art in the foam on a cortado
you're a peach drenched in
heavy cream and limoncello
old overshirts and amaretto
you're champagne
and i'm the idiot
who intentionally
calls it "sham-pag-nee"
you can see through the
espresso stains on my
hands and arms right
down to freckles over scars
even if i slap myself to wipe
the pleasant look off my face
at the end of the day
you'll still think i'm cute
and when you say things
like that i start to feel all
gooey and underbaked
like a fallen cake with
cinnamon buttercream
melting down the sides
perfectly and
unabashedly flawed
i am selfish and afraid
and you don't seem to mind
so here's a toast to
letting someone new
into my life for
the first time
to allowing myself
to be vulnerable
and happy even if it
might be a mistake
because goodness knows
you're sweeter and softer
than i ever dreamed
someone could be
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
I'm guilty of admiring my works and not others, that's what's silly about my self compassion dance
When the only thing I've got left is the narcissistic klaxon that my self-righteous ambulance horn trances
If it's killing me, Bukowski would be proud, because he loved his liquor, but he loved killing himself more
He'd say, **** your religion! Pour this! This will bring you closer to God!"
It's hard for an atheist to swallow, and to dabble in the tasting of sin,
But Jesus was famous for turning water into wine, with no grapes mashed or thinned
The shield of amaretto is strong and smooth
You can put your cruise control on if you feel amused and soothed
But in darker times it will make your feeling woozy and moved
But **** does it make you feel more like yourself
The you'est you can be, with impeccable speech craft and gentlemanly muse
Helps you pay the dues that you have abused in your passive seasonal attitudes
So what say ye Devine for thou'est darkest temptations, when you've created your own demons, hells, and abrasions
Seems like you're the one holding the power ***** of creation
Ye 'ol Devine ************
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
the first thing people would say upon our engagement is show me the ring like some bling is an ode of your love to me. i am not a homemaker i am a homebody. i excel in colombian coffee and monday night pub specials and cheap wine with expensive labels. i excel at being one of the guys and by being one of the guys i mean not being your wife. i filled the crevices you scraped in me like some kind of sculptor smoothing over past mistakes like being your wife was some kind of placebo pill i can sweat out with half-empty pizza boxes and grease stains on a couch that was never mine. when i first tell people about us about what i've done they say
but you two fit so well
but i liked you together
but you were going to get married
but but but
but they don't see your knuckles almost shaking hands with my jawline or the time i stared at you deadpan i'm not scared of you and i think that's what scared you that i'm no battered wife that i'll take you all bleed you dry then smile from the corner.
i am no battered wife like the woman who raised you
whose christmas-gifted blanket i'm currently curled under but whose 4 a.m. whispered words i cherish more he can't make you forget what you felt like your lies would forge me into the *bat **** crazy ***** you christened me but what i felt in your booze-stained breath amaretto-sweet words ice-diluted eyes was i am no battered wife
i am no laying next to you in bed at 30 with kids i couldn't convince myself to want and bruises that fit your fingers on my ribs. i'll take my tuesday tequila and too-loud laughs, my scrounging for quarters for just one more cup of coffee over your stability smirks.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
I feel drunk all the time.
You are on my mind like a sweet hangover [if such a thing is possible].
Oh, but it must be. Your eyes, the colour of dark Amaretto, I could stare
at them intensely, casually, aimlessly, eternally, until I'm completely drowning
in your bitter sweet gaze.
Just thinking of you literally makes my heart flutter. I can feel
this giant ache, a longing perhaps pulling my heart in multiple directions.
Every single alarm bell in my brain is going off and I know
this has to stop specially since it never began, and even when I can
actually taste the foreseen heartbreak like the smell of cheap ***** I still
crave for you, the alcoholic I am.
I want to savour you as I would a glass of Baileys on a summer evening.
But right now I frankly don't care. Give it to me as a single shot of Absynth,
and I'll down it in one go, because
Baby, I'm addicted to you!
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:40 PM UTC
two shots of
tequila
a splash of
campari
soco
tanqueray
kalua
amaretto
vermouthy
chambord
lime concentrate
peache schnap-ps
triple sec
cheap-ass *****
malibu
top it off with
soda water
sprite
drink until it's gone
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:07 AM UTC
Mother Nature is a nihilist sitting with friends
Around a poker table in the dew drop inn
Playing Nasty Canasta and the loser draws a limb
On a voodoo hangman, the cut of her kin
The high-wire committee say she’s way out of line
So they’ve sent in a crack-team of their most earnest faces
To blow 40 shades of blue, red and lime
From the very corridors our Mother paces
She croaks through the smoke “the first sons a novelty
The rest are just relics of muscles unclenched
Too smart for their own good and that doesn’t bother-me
But the reaper is hungry and hustling for rent”
Lackeys line the lawn, flunkies on fleek
To cover the crack of her chunky cheeks
“To stake lives may well seem immoral and bleak
But to play for cash prize seems horribly cheap
For a Lady of her esteem”
But the crowd spoke, she hung up the wardens trunchbull
Left the skeleton key within reach of the cells
“They’ve aired their opinions and I’ve had a cunt-full
Let the hungry ******** impeach themselves
I’m sitting this one out”
“And I’ll hide, while my dead snake wriggle persists,
On Elba with hairy pits, freckled wrists,
Openly practicing romanticists
And other hapless things that can’t exist
In these times”
Every second Sunday, the search resumes-led
By a dawn-chorus of confetti festooned-plebs
She can dance the devils limbo cos she’ll not be presumed-dead
While we’ve Holy Grail Package Holi-vows to renew-said
The green eyed usher on the door
The newsstand screams “Mother Nature was a fascist
Sher natural selection was the **** manifesto”
And they’re pedalling placebo to the shell-shocked masses
While the editor shoehorns a scotch into his amaretto
Yeah the world has been orphaned and the orphans smothered
But go easy on her sordid soul cos that’s our mother, after all
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
Thudding walls calamity crash
bozo bongo beatitude drinkatude
splashing chi whisky against amaretto amethyst ice mountains
wallowing winds whisper storm clouds
and tidal waves
weaving
in and out of bodies like a titanium knife
glistening like the moon.
and i sit on top of a mountain
watching,
waiting for the mercurial air & water elements
to swallow me like a dab of LSD.
"Let's go drown in each other's emotions!"
I shout, the words echoing
as the storm grows and the foaming water
churns and splashes in the wee hours of the morning...
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
funny how
a year ago tonight
we danced
to summer wind
and outside songs,
looked at clouded
navy skies and pretended
there were stars.
how young we were,
that summer.
lived and loved
with firey hearts
and wet lips,
shadows holding hands
under street lamps
and fluorescent walmart lights.
fell for you like a stumble
off a cliff and when I
read the freckles across your face
by the light of the moon
and we argued over the existence of
aliens,
look, they're right there
soco amaretto lime,
the anthem of our night time
wanderings through the streets
where we grew up,
tripped over my words
like the curb I couldn't see
in the dark, never been out
this late before.
same time next week?
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
Glass roses of blue
Cigarettes and amaretto
Served with milk tears
Candy giggles take it back
Build a house from
what's lacking
Break black ties and
Want to wear heels out
For no one but
The television and
Steam mangling in a box
I need to get off frail mind lines like
Dreading time
Loving this lipstick and
I am not a girl anymore
I filthy my own nest
And i'm blind as I am blessed
Jun 3, 2019
Jun 3, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
Drunkards crawl through pools of *****
bruises and mascara smother stripper's eyes,
beneath stale air and drunken haze
ulterior motives and false perceptions are easily disguised
stained beauty slowly curdles
teenage morals gradually decompose, as
****** frustration ignites, burning beneath disco lights
lust blooming like sordid petals of a rose
boys eye girls bra-less and raving
vying for a flash of flesh or ******
anticipations defy logical explanations
as juvenile love starts to tickle
alcohol brews caustic feelings
lacklustre defences and warped attractions,
some look for relationships and lifetime lovers
whilst others seek mere distractions
escaping the reality of a life
gouging its gnarled nails upon our skin,
the fact that staying weak is easier
tempting us to give in to deviled sin
for what's the point in staying strong,
only to be dragged along upon the floor?
What's the point in living,
when you just don't know what you're living for?
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
She caught
you fair and
Square
The never____
((Singlehanded))
(Jingle Cock-pit landed)
The napkin
crossed legs
Married
her favorite drinks
((Uncrossed or divorced))
Bachelorette
Never drink
and ride her
Corvette
50 unlisted shades
green drinks
Spiked
Too envy_______*
Personality can win
One *** single
Emmy
So Cool and collected
He's so hot saturated
Her College Humor
Mom got ulcers
Such a bust of
tumors
Bring on the
Buzz Feed
Amazingly enough
Drinks are our
Drug need
Single she had ti
Married to regret it
Amaretto went
Solo
Card game
Played upon like the
City Ghetto
In your mouth
Smirnoff___Off the record
The turn-off
He tried to win her
Such Sweet nuts
The olives Italian
Hey Juice horse
Stallion
The
Gala Ha
Ha baba
Shrimp and sheep
Pretzels lime twist
This is NY
we never sleep
Dogs Yen of Yorkie
Liqueur lime
his crime
Gala Forgie
Quicker and
City slicker
One drink
to pick Fergie
Big Daiquiri
Hot stuff singer
Never a
solitaire game
He got stiff
Frangelico
Of the Pinnacle
The ***** Princess
Lost her dress
Playing Russian
Roulette
Magically Mike
Came all over
Collette imaginable
His drink was
the hottest rated
Never by one
Bad drink
Sip to your drinks
Gala party tricks
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
your name tastes like
cinnamon gum
shower water
lipgloss
teasing kisses
the cocktails you downed
and the taste of myself on your lips
from our first time
your name tastes like
your moans
mimosas
experimenting with my sexuality
disneyland
and quick flurried movements
as i try to hurry
and finally taste you
before we get caught
your name tastes like
a ***** text message
hotel rooms
and room service
amaretto sours mixed
with karaoke
and handsome celebrities
shower *** and counter ***
the adventure of our
first trip together
your name tastes like
a quick weekend away
sleeping nestled next to you
the sound of your breathing
salty ocean air
and the perfume
that’s burnt into my brain
your name tastes like
movies in my living room
day drinking
your new hobby
your sadness
tears in the shower
as you try to come to terms
with the expiration date on
our relationship
your name tastes like
backseat ***
blanket nests
the age of ultron
movie theater popcorn
adult milkshakes
the beach and wind
my tears in the bathroom of the cafe
as i try to come to terms with
my heart
your name tastes like
a weekend where i couldn't
do anything right
your frowns
and quiet disappointments
a trip to movie sets
and the sound of the seagulls
that fly overhead
during a hot summer picnic
your name tastes like
nights out late laughing
dancing
walking around the vegas strip
calvin harris and night clubs
***** and absinthe
chlorine
teary goodbyes
and last time kisses
*** that makes me sad
and heartbroken
your name tastes like
bitterness
and anger
promises broken
and tears shed
cuts on my leg
and appetites gone
a heartache too big for my body
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
document the hours passed
with the emptying bourbon glass
you told me that you don’t like bars
so I left in the back seat of your car
I told myself that I wouldn’t drink this much tonight.
but tonight you won’t stop looking at me
you won’t stop tracing my cheek
and I wouldn’t want you to anyways.
I wonder when the neighbors will wake up
will they still have rings of their makeup
pressed onto their lover’s neck?
I thought I wanted to stay 18 forever
but then we wouldn’t have a forever
in the living room, sipping whiskey on your couch
waiting for the world to just slow down.
but if you could stop to listen
you could hear everyone’s existence
balancing delicately on the seconds running by.
our forever is tonight.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
when i got home that night
- three-hundred and sixty-five days
prior to writing this,
i’d spent exactly
- forty-five minutes
drinking.
i’d left the house at
- eight-thirty pm
and planned to spend about
- three and a half-hours
shooting the **** with old friends
while pretending i was okay.
instead, i downed
- three double-shots of ***** and lemonade
- three double-shots of malibu and coke
- 2 shots of amaretto and coke
- and one pint of beer.
and after those forty five minutes,
my friend spent about
- twenty minutes
dragging me home.
it took
- two-and-a-half minutes
to explain to her that i’d been ill.
very ill.
and that really, i still was
very ill.
and it took
- two-point-five seconds
for her to ignore me.
when I got home that night
- three-hundred and sixty-five days
prior to writing this,
i spent about
- one hour
throwing up through my mouth.
and through my nose.
- two eyes
- one t-shirt
- one toilet bowl
- one bedsheet
soaked in tears, mascara and *****
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
I know that the summer holds some type of magic
That it somehow becomes a physical reincarnation of nostalgia
Where time stands still when we are given a chance to have the perfect night
Where past loves can meet again, on brick or carpet
For one more night of infatuation and hand holding
Where hate drowns in amaretto or burns out in the sun
And we return to one cohesive group, singing old songs that hold more meaning than any of us realize
We jump to the beat of that one perfect year, entwined in our scents and lisps and favorite beers
I know that when fall returns, we won't be drinking Miller Lite with our best friends on the back porch
You won't be close to saying something real
I will return to bad habits in dark basements
We will all have to go on in real time speed
Leaving the Band of Bad Kids
Breaks my heart every year
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:54 AM UTC
My wife's 50th Birthday
We're drinking cocktails
Vermouth, Bols blue
Amaretto and lemonade.
There is a name for it, but
I don't know what it is
And I really don't care
So we're drinking
Smoking cigarettes
And wondering about time.
Wow! I can't believe that
Karen is fifty, and how is it
That I can be forty - five.
It's so ******* weird
Growing older, I don't really
Feel any different from when
I was 25
A little more tired, a little more
Cynical
But basically still me
Effectively still a child
I always just assumed
That once you hit 35
You'd feel automatically
Grown Up, and know
How to survive
Not only that but
How to thrive
A professional career
And a beautiful wife
Just like the lives you see on T.V.
I expected someone to do that for me
My own stupid naivety
But no, I've got to take control
Of my own stupid life
I don't know if I can do it
I think it sounds difficult
Too much to take at one time.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
Here I sip my amaretto
Sifting through what to let go
Listening to another indie band
Drink my drink, we'll see where I land
Reinvent a whole new plan
Whoever it was holding my hand
Sometimes would distort to less than human
But I fall asleep to the siren song
I let the waves rock me along
Why did it go on so long
Tasted like chronic from a ****
But that's as far as it got
Encased in fears trust is what we forgot
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
On weekends, mixed in my coffee cup
Amaretto
Kahlua
Baileys Irish Creme
sometimes even Jack or Jim Beam
Usually black, though, for the day to day
my boss looks down on drinking at work
and I have bills to pay
Glorious, as it burns down my throat
a few minutes later the caffeine kicks in
and I am fueled up for the day
Time to be productive and earn my way
At Christmas a bit of eggnog
into my morning brew
It gets me in the spirit
to bite off what I need to chew
Summertime evenings
you'll never guess
a scoop of vanilla ice cream
is simply the best
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
Walking inside, you know it is going to be good
a swaying drunk buxom blonde, grinning ear to ear,
a baby possum in her hand, as she slurs and shows it off,
she is walking out, cause they don't want it inside.
Inside dark shadows, pierced by neon signs,
the clack of pool ***** and the eyes of locals,
the "mayor" sits at the end of the table
greets us as we belly up.
Staggers over a beer in hand with stories on his mind
shakes our hands and regales us with memories unbidden,
of a dancing beauty in a slinky dress, playing the violin,
as he acts out the memory of a concert in his youth.
A double crown and coke, and other drinks around
waiting for the barmaid struggling with amaretto sours,
a toast to being here, and having a good time,
echoed by the locals, as the "mayor" tells us that's why we're here.
We finish our drinks, and it's time to go,
but they wish we would stay,
I shake some hands out the door,
as the jukebox plays out unknown old music.
In the parking lot, possum girl, and her husband
argue, he says it's time to go home right now,
she has other plans, we want to stay and watch
but have things to do, we wave as we drive away.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 10:14 AM UTC