In a heat that hums like a summer drum,
we sip slow fire—dark gold rum.
Your lips taste of molasses sin,
a sweetness soaked deep in your skin.

I tilt the bottle, you tilt your head,
moonlight pours on tangled bed.
We chase the burn, not shy, not tame,
whispers curling like sugarcane.

Cachaça dreams in Brazilian light,
your hands roam free in the tropic night.
Aged in oak or kissed by spice,
your touch is warm, your mouth is vice.

Spiced like the tales of old pirates’ delight,
you laugh like thunder, wild and right.
We dance on decks of rum-soaked air,
your breath a promise, raw and rare.

From Demerara’s dusky kiss,
to the Haitian heat of Rhum Agricole bliss,
every pour writes poetry on your tongue—
and darling, the best verses are yet unsung.

So raise the glass, press close, ignite—
we’ll drink ‘til dawn swallows the night.
For love is a barrel, deep and spun,
aged in hearts and poured with rum.