Winter, I’ve traded juniper elixir mixed with tonic & lime, migrated North where night comes early. Summer & South vague memories—like men & drinks, I cannot keep count. It’s cold enough for Scotch; I credit older men who’ve taught me how it blooms in the body, dark atmospheres clouding logic. Sometimes I reject logic, reject instructions to take Scotch slow on the tongue, to take one lover at a time. I reject this man’s “possibility,” his “Forever,” tell him no mixers, just straight. I want truth neat. He tells me don’t think. Feel. I use flesh to find myself. Look, I say. The last man I loved sober is disappearing.