I Sip Whiskey, Now



I sip whiskey, now
I still find it acrid,
Kerosene down my throat
I’ve found I like the burning.

You’d recognize me,
But it would take a minute or two.
As days roll by,
A constant state of metamorphosis
Makes it more difficult to discern
Who… where…
the other person is.

Decades will leave anyway,
Wearing these clothes or some others
I just thought
It would be you.

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