we used to love

midnight nearly, and i'll be hung over.

when the bottle whistles empty and i beat at my chest

and the warmth is gone and the buzz wears off

and i look at the bags under my eyes

and i listen to my son's whispery breath as he sleeps and wonders

and i hate

and i damn

and i breathe deep and still feel the hurt

when i can't sleep i think of you.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

A somber look at unresolved loss. I hope the pain eventually subsides.