One dry martini, with vermouth and gin

gives my starving stomach

a warm, light-hearted grin.

(Why did I start drinking on an empty stomach—again?)

Staring at the lemon twist

that the bartender skilfully grates,

the subtlety of its vigour and tangibility coexists.

It reminds me of someone—

wilfully passionate, and sometimes sour like a lime,

the warmth of cuddles,

the movements of arms,

and those aftershocks

forever vibrating in my memory, in rhyme.

Another shot at the classic gimlet,

another taste of the same emotional outlet—

the murky look of the liquid in glass,

clear at first, but hazy at last,

analogous to the story we had in the past.

The piece of lime hanging on the edge,

seems to be ridiculing me

with its fresh and sour garnishing effect:

“Remember you have enjoyed that lively finesse (gimlet on top)

while all that remains now is a bitter, turbid mess (gimlet at bottom)?”

Here comes a special house whiskey served neat,

for me to swallow down all the rocky peat

that clings to my heart, promptly, on repeat.

A ruthless way to wash away

the residue that stubbornly stayed,

my mind loses its logical, lucid state,

before it begins to accentuate

a smoky, and slightly astringent

realm of dreamy parade…

At last, a cup of tap water cleanses

the bitter tongue of mine

and gingers up

my pitiful soaked mind.

Not until now that I fully realise:

For once, I was sitting at a bar

singly searching for something—

something that once was,

indeed, a hard-earned taste,

yet something that I

seem to have lost on the way.

***




Author Bio: Johnnie Wong is a fresh graduate of The Chinese University of Hong Kong with a degree in Electronic Engineering. Apart from his own major, he also loves reading—especially foreign literature. Being a young, tall and handsome version of Haruki Murakami is his ultimate life goal. Not afraid of (and would love) befriending the Big vermin in Metamorphosis, and to swim in the pool that the Great Gatsby died in, with champagne on the side. He is a man who lives in the absurdity in between the “Sixpence” and “the Moon,” enjoying himself with teasing jokes which sometimes sarcastically refer to his own life, too.

“Live to laugh, laugh to live” is his ultimate motto against a miserable life. And obviously —literature too.