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When I stare…………..

……….

…………………

….

hard enough,

I see my baby standing there.

Old, yellow books

and red wine,

my baby is the same

as when I met her.

Christmas lights and

hot breath,

my baby has a jacket

that cradles her cheeks,

makes her holier than

the Good Lord’s best miracles.

Rum punch and an old cigar

hidden behind her

daddy’s good whiskey,

my baby holds me close

and squeezes my fingers

when I drift too far.

Oak and raspberry,

orange peel and whiskey,

when I see my baby,

I know I’ve made it.