creative-nonfiction inspired by Tom Waits and alcohol

I'm sorry for screaming at you at 5 a.m., it's just

Tom Waits is playing

And I never thought I could care that way.

You keep lingering like the smoke in my pipe,

Getting me high and watching me float.

I want to know what songs you think of me during.

 

What colored dress am I'm wearing in your paintings?

And what do those colors mean to you?

Just tell me what you meant when you told me you loved me.

I'm staring at the ashtray,

Tom Waits is still playing,

Where are you tonight, after all?

Author's Note

All criticism welcomed.

Reviews

[Rachel]

Love this piece! A few thoughts. The line, "I want to know what songs you think of me during". I get what you're trying to say here, I think the phrasing is a bit odd and it took me a few reads to get. I think that line is important, but something about the wording or structure of the sentence is awkward. And oddly enough, I'm not a fan of the line "what do those colors mean to you?", I don't quite know why. I think it might be the "and" before it. Maybe play around without the and? --"what colored dress am I wearing in your paintings?/ What do they mean to you", or some variation of that? or "why those colors?". Just thoughts though. I love your poem.