Her mouth touched him
like a whiskey’s kiss.
The cool brush of a ringing rim.
A moment’s anticipation
her warmest touch of amber
on his dry cracked lips.
Then, she burned.
Oh, how she singed and sang.
She warmed his cold lesions.
She scorched his grand eloquence.
She doused his innards in fire.
She had been Roosevelt’s courage,
When he departed his wife’s bedside.
She had inspired iconographic hangings,
When the muse’s rope snapped short.
She had given the suitor succor,
As he pondered where the ring went wrong.
Now, he kissed her.
Then, he drank her.
Always, he needed her
Whiskey kiss.