If I could but place the blame
on alcohol,
needing that one last taste
I can taste her breath.
Or her lips
lips that taste of gin,
vodka, rum and tequila
coke,
a long island ice tea
ice cubes
the night is long and stormy.
How ever it may come
unlike the night before, morning
comes
not with a gradual eye opening
rub nor a pop
but as a flash a burning orb.
Listen
as I spend my pent in breath
I can't bear
her hidden fears
her tear filled eyes
my lawyer has not called.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem