Sonnet: Whisk(e)y in Absence of Love

come Whisk(e)y/Whisk(e)y in the absence of love

you’ve now been burned and burnished to perfection

in your charred walls of barrel-rested slumber

taking years of maturation to be drammed

you take away this angst for translation to

mirth past hours of wasted sighs and broken thoughts

that lovesick nerves produce/ producing laughter

which robs all my reason by blur of shadows.

yet your Taste of sucralized grainmash beckons

as seductively/ tastes as bitter as love—:

fit beverage for consumption by the grainpig

whose Whisk(e)y has been called the Water of Life/

firewater spirit while alive on the breath/

come then /Whisk(e)y\ to me! in absence of love