Cognac | Poems that Suck

It lay heavily on my tongue,
       syrupy with a cloying sweetness,
            before I swallowed, feeling the burn
   of Napalm.

"That was the only alcohol in the place,"
                                 you observed, dryly
                                       but not without
                                     amusement. 

"Did you want a taste?"
                   the words were too
                      mature for me
                                    but you knew that,
                    and perhaps
                       that was the appeal for you.