Monday, December 21, 2015

December 21 -- Chris Swinney

Manhattan For Mel, Michael Flohr.

I once believed glass more powerful than
what it held. Yet wheat, water, and spices, 
cause me to lick my lips, eager for the first 
smooth pull. Classical lines embody character, 
which cradles the vice. A true whisky aficionado 
craves it, hears the calling. It’s where tradition 
and timeless stories bend, take their own shape perhaps, 
intertwined with the heat. I added two Maraschino cherries 
today. I imagine them swirling around the cocktail glass 
as our passion often had done. Each deliberate stroke 
stokes memories of times we sat together, eliminating 
all other stimulus around us, so that her eyes held 
what mattered. And, purple, her favorite color, soothes
the amber contrast, drives a bit of the bitter away,
inviting me to embrace the past, looking toward our future.
Tonight, the bottle remains un-opened, seeking a new dance partner.

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