Ice cubes in a glass of scotch

this is for my grandpa that raised me and left this world too early

A bottle of scotch you got for your 61st birthday

waited for you (where you left it) on the lowest kitchen shelf

While sickness embraced (taking slowly for a year) your intestines

anger started pouring scotch in my glass (sadness in my head)  

Eight times I counted summer seasons yet warmth left my side

my soul froze into ice cubes hoping you would come back

Someone tried to melt the ice but was left with bitter taste

they didn't know that (as every living thing ice holds for too long)

unfrozen things start to rot and smell