a poem where warmth is borrowed and winter stays too long
He poured the north into his glass,
Where silence clings and sorrows pass.
Yukon sweet with Southern fire,
A crossroad drink in cracked attire.
A citrus flash, a splash of truth,
A lemon cut that steals your youth.
Then bitters dropped, like snowflakes dark,
Each one a bruise, each one a mark.
No fire burned, yet still it warmed.
No friends remained, but ghosts were swarmed.
He sipped. He stared. The sky turned grey.
The wind blew south, then lost its way.
A strange embrace, not quite a home,
A comfort brewed in monochrome.
And when it’s gone, you’ll feel the thaw…
And wish you’d stayed inside the flaw.
📜 Northern Comfort – The Recipe
- 1½ oz Yukon Jack
- ½ oz Southern Comfort
- Splash of Lemon Juice
- 2 dashes Aromatic or Orange Bitters
- Garnish: Lemon peel or a small pine sprig, if found while foraging in your feelings
Instructions:
Stir all ingredients over ice with quiet resignation.
Strain into a rocks glass over one large cube.
Garnish only if you still believe in small gestures.
Best enjoyed in wool socks, under auroras, or beside someone who stopped asking questions years ago.
Interesting!