She's an older vintage,
a higher proof, a greater

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