Cognac

Curled
in the cooling depression of a
spring mattress,
there is still the smell of cognac
and you.
Where in the night
we rolled clumsily
one over another
and crashed upon the wall;
the liquor dancing on my lips
and my lips
greedily snatching bits
of your skin.
Laying amidst distressed sheets,
sucking the ecstasy
from the air,
I wished to fill this empty hour
with cognac
and rip-tides.

5-9-10