I Will Be Busy Poem by J A Proudfoot

I get the feeling
that you have let me go.
Like a loose button

from something you no longer own,
discovered in a drawer and
dismissed with a remembrance

of what it felt like to wear,
and how, for a time,
it helped draw together

two sides of you
that wanted to spring apart.
And so I am rolling,

on top of this bed
like a knocked over glass.
I am spilt,

with only a few stubborn
drops defying gravity.
Not even a mouthful,

but somehow enough,
to leave two ugly wet marks,
when I'm tipped onto this paper.