Veisalgia: a poem

Your sweet-smelling hair
Satin-smooth and rain-damp
It&;s the tall, cold, moist wine glass
Cradling the repressed cocktail made up of
Hush-soft lips that melt in my mouth

The fluid tenderness of your tongue
Pillow-cheeks, gentle to clash against
When I&;m teasingly nibbling on the cherry garnish
That is your ear, every curve, every dimple

Finished off with a neck
Like a tall tower of Irish cream
Buttery, rich, velvety and extremely intoxicating

Firewater, with a striking & a bitter kind of hangover:
A knowing smile for a secret shared,
And the throbbing pain of reality
When the fantasy finally fades away

I took this photo at my sister&;s engagement session. Perfect for the poem. Drunkard couple, before she had a baby. Peace, sis.