eighty proof and more phillip corwin Row upon row like glass soldiers they stand, caps on tight, labels front, name tags smartly polished, a proper international crew. Nowhere else are pleasure and despair, cold and warmth, so neatly mixed; every bottle holds a genie. Love, what I feel now for you has no military pride, cannot be capped or diluted by any blend of spirits, has no national origin. And that is why I snorkel here in these icy tides, swallow fire, and pour words in an empty cup.