She's an older vintage, a higher proof, a greater kick She embodies the blessed which is her, a mass to be reckoned Aloof for only so long, she warms, then melts, till she boils over Lithe, supple, a quiver of pulsing arrows atop the archer's body Represses ecstasy, the moan not uttered, just at the tip of the tongue I sip gently of her, inhale the spirits, relish the kick cc: CC '22