The Glass

The bottle sat there, tall
and stable glass soldier.
It did not beckon, or
coax or call out to drink.
He hefted it up, swigging
a mouthful. Burning fire, sweet
relief. She had a glass full
of sweet juice. Daintily she poured
one shot full in. Swirling and mixing,
she sipped. He reached for the double
shot glass. She reached for him.
Carefully she filled the shot glass.
Eyes on him, she lifted it high
And threw it back, never blinking once.