I drink black beer;
she drinks white wine,
back to the busy street
unable to escape
the racket of the bar,
whispered conversations
to compete with the
secrets she tells me,
while I tell her
whatever this is,
won’t last
I’m twice her age,
And she sips
Her pink lips
Leaving a stain
On the rim of the glass
Telling me not to fret it.
Life is too short
To worry about tomorrow
Today is all we have
I almost believe her.
I am floating in a fog
out of which I can see
nothing clearly,
Not even what
She sees in me
Moment to moment
A scary concept,
When I already know
I want much more
Than that,
Grateful for whatever
Pleases her to give me
She drinks white wine
While I slip black beer
Tasting something that
may not exist,
bitter and sweet,
an ache so deep
it may never expire
telling myself the age old lie
how all this will be
worth the pain,
when I’m not sure it will be.
No comments:
Post a Comment