The bottle of Stoli sits on my dresser and taunts me

With a low hiss and gleam in his eye

He whispers soothing lies in my ear

And Leaves a burning kiss on my lips

He kindly removes the jagged edge from my consciousness

And sends warmth traveling to the ventricles of my heart

Where it sits for a moment and awaits further instruction

Sometimes regret wears snakeskin boots and a button down shirt

Or walks past me quickly and without a sound but leaves the familiar and haunting scent of CK One trailing behind

In astounding punctuation

Growth does not happen in a linear fashion

But instead floats amongst the wind currents like a leaf in autumn

Falling in beautiful yet unplanned precision

The Stoli bottle still sits upon my dresser

But instead of poison

It now holds a solitary flower

-Astraea Chaumette Poetry