about the dark-brown
concoction in a fat glass bottle,
i don't harbor many memories.
except that it was what i poured
into plastic cups on a nippy
November evening, having failed
a semester paper, with a guy
who became friend for life.
and that I remembered it
again when I met her
honey-colored eyes,
the color of Old Monk
in our pegs of three-fouth Cola,
losing myself in the quicksand
of love and never to be reciprocated,
with the acerbic hangover
claiming my heart.

i don't harbor much
memories of the rum:
except that I lived both
eternity and evanescence
in its surreal poison.

- Sobhan