Low Orbit Regret
—where gravity hums and guilt stays in suspension

You left the ground, but not the past,
The ache just slowed, it didn’t pass.
The stars were mute. The dark was deep.
But still, you couldn’t really sleep.

Vodka chilled, a vacuum’s kiss,
No taste, no pull—just near-remiss.
Absinthe bloomed, a spectral trace,
A bitter light in weightless space.

White cranberry, pale and cold,
Like static tears you never told.
And lemon flared, then disappeared,
Like reasons why you stayed up here.

You sipped. You drifted. Orbit held.
Regret was soft, not sharp or yelled.
And in that silence, glass in hand,
You found a view you’d never planned.

📜 Low Orbit Regret – The Recipe

Instructions:
Stir gently over ice in a mixing glass—like balancing the capsule.
Strain into a chilled coupe.
Serve with a quiet glance out the nearest existential porthole.