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Summer of Poetry: Untitled Poem 2


New amber pours out
into a readied pint glass,
piquing my curiosity:
"What does it taste like?"
The cask-fresh concoction
is passed my way.
"It tastes like time-travel"
But I do not understand
until golden brew touches
parched lips
and I'm transported to younger days
surrounded by the laughter
of joyful men
toasting to new life,
the excitement of first-born
fading as I swallow and my
taste buds dry.
Warmth flows down my limbs
hitting empty stomach,
igniting the butterflies
of a first kiss,
expanding until my body glows
warm
like the spring day of
our first meeting.
I open my eyes to empty glass
and ask for another trip.

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