Comes Up Empty Poem by Aimee Kiefer
Comes Up Empty
It's all empty,
the whiskey glass,
my bed sheets,
the 'I love you's,
it's all empty now.
And it will stay empty
until the bar tender
fills my glass
and the burlesque dancer
down the road decides
she has always wanted
to entertain a poet.
But soon after
it will all be empty.
My favorite whiskey glass,
the mattress on the floor,
the hole in my chest,
they always come up
empty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 6:52:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Dank but inviting; I tend to like this style.