The gin

I carry it throughout
in a jar on my chest.
Sweat on palms, damp linen,
I lost count of creases.
Easing, I thought, would be the secret
I share with my old mem-pals;
Now as inches begin to pale
the hole in heart grows wide.
Why didn't I spill it before
when my arms were right?
Now every drop makes it heavy
as the candle destroys itself.
Weak are my knees, feet sore
dragging my sack towards window.
I have put up a display, will you come?
I'll give you the gin before I disappear.