Scotch on Ice

Cold, shiny and smooth.
I am drinking,
to the smiles that spread,
like forest fires,
across your face.

I weep at this stench,
and stare away,
at your nudity,
smooth and fluent.

I think of shimmering nights,
on islands of guilty alibis.
And with my sharp knife,
proceed to cut through,
countless nets.

I drown in your golden aquarium,
and carve epitaphs,
out of melting ice.

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