You remind me of this glass of wine,
that I know I shouldn't be drinking.
You do nothing but make me tipsy,
and it's hard to tell what I'm thinking.
When I press you up against my lips,
You leave a bitter taste behind.
I find disappointment at the bottom,
in hoping you'd age better with time.
The more I get drunk on your kiss,
the more things start to feel less clear.
You remind me of this glass of wine,
but I much prefer the taste of beer.
YOU ARE READING
This Book is Probably About You.
Thơ caHis eyes are the perfect poem, i'll spend forever trying to write. On an endless search for adjectives, to capture them just right. I could try to write their meaning, but I think you'd fail to understand. 'Cause nothing quite that beautiful could b...
