The Wine Glass on the Nightstand

[Dark Shadows]

The wine glass on the nightstand
Would be all I have left, if you died tomorrow
The crumpled sheet beside me, the towel on the floor
The memory of your caloused hands on my breasts, your parted lips and half closed eyes
The taste of your mouth and warmth of your arms around me
What will the morning bring, a phone call?
A message left in haste before you rushed off to the waiters
The waiters, who pace and wring their hands and toss and turn like me in the night when you are gone
As time slips away and dust fills the footsteps you left behind
Your messages a faint history, a skeleton of what we were or what I thought we might have been
The new day will come and hands that touch, and mouths that linger will force the last drop of desire for what was and now can never be

[Dark Shadows]

why am I doing this, I hate poetry


The wine glass on the nightstand
Would be all I have left, if you died tomorrow
The crumpled sheet beside me, the towel on the floor
The memory of your caloused hands on my breasts, your parted lips and half closed eyes
The taste of your mouth and warmth of your arms around me
What will the morning bring, a phone call?
A message left in haste before you rushed off to the waiters
The waiters, who pace and wring their hands and toss and turn like me in the night when you are gone
As time slips away and dust fills the footsteps you left behind
Your messages a faint history, a skeleton of what we were or what I thought we might have been
The new day will come and hands that touch, and mouths that linger will force the last drop of desire for what was and now can never be

[NudeTea]

This is a very impassioned piece of poetry. The thoughts and emotions coursing your soul needed that release and this poem expresses your sentiment in, hopefully, a healing way.
:thumbsup:



The wine glass on the nightstand
Would be all I have left, if you died tomorrow
The crumpled sheet beside me, the towel on the floor
The memory of your caloused hands on my breasts, your parted lips and half closed eyes
The taste of your mouth and warmth of your arms around me
What will the morning bring, a phone call?
A message left in haste before you rushed off to the waiters
The waiters, who pace and wring their hands and toss and turn like me in the night when you are gone
As time slips away and dust fills the footsteps you left behind
Your messages a faint history, a skeleton of what we were or what I thought we might have been
The new day will come and hands that touch, and mouths that linger will force the last drop of desire for what was and now can never be