If our Language was Whiskey

[Wjames]

It would have started with a shot of rum
far from here in some distant tavern,  I think it would read cleaner without this comma.
on a night neither of us recalls,
where across calm chaos,
illuminated by indifferent moonlight, 
you claimed to hate spirits. 


A shot would turn into a cup
(eventually the whole bottle) 
shared between us;
there would be no spark,
just a warm fire
kindling off blissful ignorance. This stanza was the least interesting part of the poem to me - seems sort of expository and bland. 


It would only be further fed by sweet wine
set ablaze by the shadow
of the overlooked fireplace I like the first three lines of this stanza a lot - nice, flowing images.
dancing flames barely reflected 
in your still irises
(words unspoken burn
with brimming passion).


White flakes would swim in whiskey:                         
a bottle
then another
passed between us like inhalers— I like the image of inhalers a lot - I picture an asthma inhaler, found it interesting.
a brief relief in denial
of the encroaching miasma. Strong stanza.


Then only a neutered fireplace,
hazy memories, abandoned worlds,
and two cups of gin on burnt logs:
one half full,
one half bare.  

I enjoyed the poem, I think about two people who very much enjoy their time together, but (at least one of them) fnd it superficial and unfulfilling.