A gentle tinkling of cubes in a glass, swirled, fitted, waiting
A smooth pour of the Devils elixir, a fine old scotch golden hued
Tipping gently the glass the near invisible vapour of the ice
Is consumed by the thick savory fluid poured over cold rocks
A calm raise to moistened lips and an explosion ensues
Of flavors rich from Scottish vats in cool damp warehouses
To your tongue, swirled, fitted, swallowed, and a grip of warmth
To entrails, like the grasp of a minion from below, flowing out
To fingertips and toes, and a rush to head, rise above the ennui
Ahhhh... It's been a long day...
Comments