Two Bottles
I have two bottles of tequila
They brim to the surface
Spirits, unsettled
Some parts floral
Some parts wooden
Mostly hollow
The liquid surface barely moves
The tension measured in drops
I pour; it expands to fill
The surface stares back at me
I am aged by my reflection
I remember there being more
I have one bottle of tequila
I brim to the surface
Spirit, unsettled
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