Fire Flies on Ice

Inspiration is made in a bottle
And it is poured for me with tidy and tiny imperfections.

Fire flies melting over ice,
The glimmer of lifetimes in your eyes.

I read and drink upon stories,
That my bible of absolute brings.
My veins strain and freeze,
In the heat of a bar room sweaty haze.

To be sober is a forgotten protestant pulpit.
I want to break free and just drink.
I will order up my god with two poked olives and a splash of lime or Grenadine.

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