Wednesday, February 22, 2017



When the hands of the clock
are flipping you off,
its face a twisted smile,
and escape to the bottle
has drowned the words
that once intoxicated you.

When lust is merely a metaphor,
love a long distance call
and your voice has turned
to autumn leaves
that crackle under foot.

That is when the night
becomes only darkness
and the call of that bottle
fills the spaces in between
the sunlight.


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