We all have out tipple of choice, mine
i sip.
It's potent breath intertwines with mine
filling my lungs with pleasure.
Satisfying all of my dreams and desires.

I swig,
as my words become dizzy, muddled.
Phosphene eyes to match. Spirits,
lifted.
A wonderful serendipity,
i am free.

I gulp,
my mouth runs away with me, legs
unable.
The clock strikes, it's hand jittery
face wobbling.

I chug,
fire slides down my throat
incinerates my blackened liver,
kindles my tired slurs.
I smile, an collapse
into the streaming sun.

We al have our tipple of choice
some like wine, on a Friday.
I like mine.
Always.