Friday, September 10, 2010

The Gift of Johnny Irish

Cork seals the bottle that hangs from my neck
Where it was tied by a traveller three
Days prior. The tiny tincture's small speck
Of magic make it love potion, ready
To be imbibed by that special someone
And shared with me the moment we meet in
This dusty bacchanal. Oh then the fun
Will flow like fermented freedom and sin
Itself will stand awestruck at all we do.
So now it sits, resting against my chest,
Anxious for the moment it will bring true
Passion into this world. But it had best
     Be ready to wait a very long while,
     'Cause when I see her I'm too shy to smile.

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