Wine weans off like ebbing tides
When day is done and joy on its shelf
Laughter rings still from hours past
Ghost stand 'round making small talk
Empty Sunday evenings when all are gone
The night raps on the sills
Silence throwing stones at the panes
The streetlamp taunts warmth
Wind whistling promises outside
She stands stark under yellowing lights
Sharper before but still she is known
She observes from outside the window
Peering inside with pale moony face
And stilted she utters to see yourself
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/165702861-144-k624094.jpg)
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Poetics and Musings
PoezjaJust a place to keep some original poetry. Feel free to leave feedback, I always am looking for it