Eyes Awake, Hearts Still Sleep

 

 

getting drunk and ready to fight

your hands smell like cigarette smoke

you trace 'I'm sorry'

down the curve of my jaw

 

my kisses smell like cheap whiskey

but they say

"I'm sorry too"

 

we drink to our short-comings

making a silent pact

not to talk of them

 

and as the wind flits through the blinds

we realize too late

we now have nothing to say

Reviews

[Jibey]

A tawdry emptiness suffuses this clever poem, the stale stink of the morning after... no joy, no blessing... only the silence of regret