The taste of coffee reminds me of your sour breath on Sunday Mornings when you get up make pancakes and insist on kissing me, forgetting you haven't brushed your pearls yet.
The mention of glass, reminds me of that time I broke a bottle of your best whiskey and you made me crawl into shards, picking them up one by one.
The idea of forever reminds me of that time you locked me up in the basement for two weeks because I'd embarrassed you in front of you colleagues.
Saturdays remind me of movie nights and cuddly bear hugs and a lot of kisses.
When they say love I'm triggered by the moments between you and I when one minute I was your whole world and the next I was the garbage on the streets.
YOU ARE READING
From The Attic (poetry)
PuisiFrom the attic is a book with thoughts and qoutes and countless poems I've stringed together with the scattered words in my mind. any
