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Empty arms that yearn to be held,

dry lips desperate for a kiss,

meals to be shared,

conversations to be voiced,

sheets to be fought over...


How this single life,

tedious at times,

burns like a hard drink.


And if I treat it like shots

it is too many,

too much, too soon,

and I regret my actions

come the morning.


But if I nurse it through the night

like a fine Scotch or Cognac...

Then? Oh my, then...


What exquisite pain.

What a magnificent flame.