The salt, a tiny sting,

a prelude to the burn,

not of fire, but of something deeper,

a warmth spreading slow,

like sunset across the desert.

The lime, a vibrant green bite,

cutting through the sweetness,

the sweetness of escape,

of worries dissolving

in the amber liquid.

Each sip, a small surrender,

a letting go of edges,

of sharp anxieties,

a softening of the self,

a melting into the moment.

The tequila, a clear,

unblinking gaze,

reflecting back

the hidden things,

the things we try to ignore.

Not a cure, not a fix,

but a temporary reprieve,

a space to breathe,

to feel the weight lessen,

just for a little while.

A momentary truce

with the relentless hum

of the everyday.

Tequila therapy.

Brief, potent,

and ultimately gone.