The flame licks the glass
And the green poison bursts to flame.
My nose catches the strong scent of burning
And I recoil
--If only for a second.
He chuckles,
I smile,
As the second flame makes contact with her wings.
This time I breathe it in
Anise touches the back of my throat,
Grips on
As if to hold the way for what's to come.
The third flame strikes
What's left of the green fairy comes undone
And as I drink her in
Our minds begin to grapple,
And in the midst of the struggle I realize
That I will never know if I won.
--------------------------
No secrets here. I drank some absinthe last night, and scribbled this out on a spare piece of paper while making the 40 minute stumble home at 4am. Couldn't think of a better title.
2 comments:
Perhaps "Absenthe" (French pronunciation=>absente=>absent, in reference to your state in the midst of struggle).
I don't know, might be too cheesy though...
Never had that sort of a run in with the green færy myself despite having tried it and become drunk on it. Things just seem slightly quieter and more still to me than usual but nevertheless it's an intense drunk just by virtue of being such high octane stuff.
The intense drunk is really all I was feeling, but it was an effective way to ensure that my walk home would wax poetic.
Also, kudos on the title. That's a keeper.
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