Scottish bottles all lined up on the bar,
Behold their amber hue and flavors bazaar.
Smoky and bitter, never chased with a lime,
Liquid libation drank one shot at a time.
It blooms and wakes the not so subtle sound of
Whiskey Lies……and the glint in your eye.
The corner curl of sarcastic grin,
You sample another taste of sin.
Walls tumble down, your armor unhinged,
Let's play with fire and not get singed.
Your hand on my hip, another drink leaves the glass,
Laughter comes quickly, whiskey sure makes you sass.
Caught in the moment, kisses fuel my desire,
My inner voice screams, don't leap from the pan to the fire.
The rush from the closeness, thoughts jumbled and frayed,
Its almost my downfall, a girl could get laid.
In charge of my wits, I see through the haze,
The spark in your eye slowly fading away.
This road I have traveled, every dip, every turn,
A women’s intuition is to never get burned.
So put down that glass, and hand me your keys,
You’ll never remember that "I "was the tease.
©Copyright2010 LVanhorn All Rights Reserved
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