Red wine would stain my lips in the same way I’ll stain them to grab your attention, pouting slightly and letting my front teeth show a little. Cold nights in bars and watching for your words far too frequently, unsure of which need will hurt my head more in the morning. I twirled my words around my mouth, hitting the sides of my teeth and curling around my tongue, letting the flavour linger a little longer than usual. The night’s whiskey was pulling at my tonsils, using it’s most practiced persuasions to convince me to open the seal. Massaging my cheeks and asking me to let you know what I’d be saving for so long, but just like those drafts it knew I would never post, I wasn’t going to purse my lips quite so easily. I was waiting for it, and it was waiting for me. It would take more than the bitter repulsion of vodka for me to clear the secrets held by my throat to you tonight.