She Was Whiskey Neat

A Poem

My Photo

The crowd warmed up to her
quickly, like Bourbon poured
into their lips was the response
to her hips moving
like backslapping swagger
to her steps taken
calculated and cunning
like a woman who never
spent a day running.

She was whiskey straight up
no bullshit
lips bowed in design
like each word she said
was made to hit the spot
of your heart like an arrow,
yet she was never Cupid.

Viable and strong
staying for the long haul
hips made for creation
like she is the universe
in a tipped verse
of curves overflowing
fabric meant to contain her
but she could never be contained.

She is heat in your throat
when your drink is held
perspiration sweating
with condensations will
bringing about vivacious
vitality to each sip
bringing her down your throat
liquid fire that burns
and warms in the…