Gin.

There's the smell of gin,

that takes me back
(and I feel this, write this
just for you).

Sometimes you used to say you'd come over
and I would wait around
in my unlit back yard,

by the unopened gate,

with the unopened gin,
but you would never show up,

so I could never let you in.

I was waiting to let you in,
but some nights you didn't show up.
I'd call you and ask you where you were
and you'd say you would be here, "Soon."

But the nights you came

they were marked by sin

and mastery of subtle conversation.

If it didn't have that sweet darkness

I wouldn't remember it today.

There's the smell of gin,

that takes me back!

And I feel this, write this

just for you.

And then I even thought the hurt was gone,
it lurked around some time-dark corner.
Puppy jungle-monkey love
or puppy love, puppy love.
Don't you ever end, or leave?