Maraschino cherries,
spare tires in the bottom
of the glass;
a distinct moment of revelation
when long-handled glass stirrers
filter the sunlight, working out
new kinks.
Sweetness, a good foil
though spoils quickly,
as pearly whites anticipate
the crush after the sip.
The heart of the lion
holds the brightest star;
no, not Regulus
but Manhattan, the city
I toast to.
With words like anesthetics
to wounds still bleeding,
here’s to a beginning
renewed,
cheers after cheers:
“Let our hearts be wide open!”
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