He and I were like sugar on a martini glass.
Maybe we'd work, perhaps it wouldn't appear all that strange.
I'd appear exactly like what he'd need.
Except, I wouldn't.
I wouldn't be able to balance his taste or improve his experience.
Yet, God, I tried.
But I was the sugar to his martini and the orange to his vodka.
YOU ARE READING
not a poetess, just heartbroken
PoetryIt is a collection of poems by a writer, not a poetess. Sometimes, tears and pain make you do things you wouldn't usually do. For me, it was writing poems in the form of questions I wish I could ask them. But I can't, so I hope, dear reader, you fin...
