Three Fingers, poetry by Melyssa G. Sprott at Spillwords.com

Three Fingers

Three Fingers

written by: Melyssa G. Sprott

 

Less elaborate needs;
sweet, bitter mist;
(shh, the moon is full)
I recall it well—
another shadow in the room.
“Pour me three fingers
of the good scotch,
won’t you?” I say,
as I relish
the warm blood spray.
Is it easier to laugh or cry?
I’ll just sit back
and enjoy the show.
It falls apart—
the whole world,
you know—the things we love
that come and go.
One final breath before I turn and
walk away for the last time,
“Kiss me before I go,
won’t you?” I say,
relishing
the warm blood spray.
(It is a full moon, you know.)
Nothing beats
three fingers of a good scotch.

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