(no subject)

[tristfully]

'Sloe Gin'

The clear weather of juniper
darkened into winter.
She fed gin to sloes
and sealed the glass container.

When I unscrewed it
I smelled the disturbed
tart stillness of a bush
rising through the pantry.

When I poured it
it had a cutting edge
and flamed
like Betelgeuse.

I drink to you
in smoke-mirled, blue-
black sloes, bitter
and dependable.

Seamus Heaney

Aster sent me a bottle.

Who wants to go into the woods with me tonight to find Lukashenko?

Or maybe to find out how we die.

Comments

[bratsquatch]

alright you don’t have to come if you don’t want to

[zadielovelace]

But [......] Okay.

[bratsquatch]

i mean i WANT you to come but you don’t HAVE to