Whiskey Ginger

Does Olympus hold raptured Ganymede
While youthful pleasure dwells in your embrace?
Your keen quicksilver-hazel gaze decrees
Sheer speechless ecstasy upon my face.
Under curly auburn locks find I wit
Of a Georgia peach, keen gentleman’s wiles,
And whiskey ginger spit, which I admit
Intoxicates.  From your wry, bemused smile
Cupid’s arrow flies, my carnal wound kissed
In a firm gallop under borrowed light.
O Icarus fallen, repaired, exalted,
Your ascent westward ‘scapes my impaired sight.
Sorrow is parting from such lips so sweet,
Hoping we knights-errant again shall meet.


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