Empty arms that yearn to be held,
dry lips desperate for a kiss,
meals to be shared,
conversations to be voiced,
sheets to be fought over…

How this single life,
tedious at times,
burns like a hard drink.

And if I treat it like shots,
it is too many,
too much, too soon,
and I regret my actions
come the morning.

But if I nurse it through the night,
like a fine Scotch or Cognac…
Then? Oh my, then…

What exquisite pain.
What a magnificent flame.

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