First Fall Under Liquor's Spell

The bottle caught the flicker’s light,

a glint beneath the streetlamp’s haze.

Heat spilled like oil into the night,

a slow unraveling, a daze.

Laughter jagged, unrefined,

words slurred soft against cracked stone.

The world spun out, and I declined

to hold it close or claim it home.

Stumbling edges, gravel rough,

a pavement bleeding sticky heat.

Balance broken, unsteady, gruff,

a clumsy dance with staggering feet.

That night, the bottle wore a crown,

a fleeting king of fragile kings.

A first fall deep without a sound,

a reckoning in crooked rings.