Bacardi

Last night I sipped rum.

The burn went down

past my heart, acidifying

my sensitive tummy.

I know I’m not drunk.

I don’t understand how

some (not all adults) pass

time this way

I can be quiet & broody,

or

loud & obnoxious

without consuming a sting

for momentary honey.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The last few dulling

sips before you are sleepy.

Drowsy.

Heavy lids

Curtaining black.

You are not dreaming.

Only waiting.

Breathing in.

Exhaling out.

But this stomach fire

Will not die.

I am reminded

the hospital bed

I laid in for a week.

Burning legs.

Burning heart.

Loss of appetite.

Streptococcus.

No choice.

People choose

A brew.

A shot.

A glass.

Jesus turned water

to wine for joy.

I’ve asked, why does this scare me?

Only to hear the same thoughtful

answer question me.

this is a disease.

You can’t see

Who

What

When

Where

Where

How.

Love will call

Your name.

Relentlessly.

He knows.

Heals burning.

Declares eternal portions

by His strength.

Overcoming love.

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