I can hear your laughter in the ceramic echoes of my cup,
The steeping tea takes on the shade of your eyes,
The steam brings back the rosy cheeks you'd left me with,
My scalded tongue as bitter as the day we said our goodbyes.
It's funny, thinking of you alone,
Of the late night like this one when we met,
Now my cup runneth over with a different drink,
I've won and yet I'm left with all the regret.
I cannot bring myself to make another coffee,
Not when that was what we shared by day,
Instead I pick at leaves that never bloomed,
Arrange them into ungifted bouquets,
And watch the water boil away.
I think of you in those moments,
The alcoholic sting of that night,
I can remember when we first said hello,
But not without a blur in my sight.
I don't drink whiskey anymore,
I don't go out just to pass the time,
Instead I sit amidst the chamomile,
And think of you, when you were mine.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collection
PoetryA simple collection of my poetry, some gathered from old notebooks and some bespoke writings for this collection. There is something of a narrative, loosely speaking, that could be constructed here, with recurring mentions of places and unnamed cha...
