Sip, mon amour, her emerald lips whisper,
taste the moon dissolved in my tongue.
The glass tilts—a slow, seductive shiver,
as absinthe drips, thick and young.
Ah, cette fee… she coils ‘round my spine,
her breath—licorice, fire, and rue.
The spoon’s silver teeth leave sugar to pine,
while water bleeds her viridian hue.
Drink, she croons, let my poison unfold,
a dream where Van Gogh’s stars still weep.
The room spins, gilded and greenly bold,
as shadows waltz where reason sleeps.
One more, she laughs, for the artists and fools,
who kneel at my jade-lit throne.
The last drop burns—both cruel and cruel,
and suddenly, I’m no longer alone.
hello dearest Adagio this is beautiful and spicy ❤️
Beautifully penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.
Thank you, Brenda.
This is an awesome tribute to the green fairy and it’s significance for artists! Wonderfully written!
Thank you, my friend.
Strong sonic control and imagery throughout; the absinthe motif carries both seduction and menace with impressive balance.
Thank you, Thomas.