Bully Hill’s Sweet Walter is a little like drinking pure sugar until the very end when it sours up nicely. If you drink it, the shape of your mouth will be OOooooo-Oup! We bought it because the green is a shade I don’t have for the bottle tree yet.
I have moved on to Blue Nun. At this point, it seems fine.
And we had a fire.
And the orange cat came by.
I decided to have a confession. To name which of you was the one who should come over to fill my bed. But I couldn’t decide. And so I named all of you. And I decided that made me whitmanesque. And so yes, I said, yes, I said yes.
And that’s how you know there’s not yet enough poetry in the world, that you had to come here, to me, who is not a poet, to rhyme Walt with Molly.
Every day I am so grateful and so lucky to have you, every day. I don’t tell you though I should. But I love you. Each and every one of you. Yes, you Bridgett, Lauredhel, Casey, Sam. All of you. I love you like the pillows in my warm bed.
And, I for one, believe the world can only be improved by drunken confessions of love and so I stand before you drunk and in love.
Edited to add: I love the fiddle.
Edited again to add: SEe?
I love you.
Ha, yes, I say, yes.