coffeewhiskey

she left behind an old bottle of wine
it tastes like pussy and roses and poems
I hung it on the wall like a painting, like a trophy
and its remains spill a warm stain on the carpet below
where I laid mouth open and eyes closed
letting the drops kiss my lips, blindfolded
and when I wake up, choking up the reds
its hard to say behind the blood and the wine
if when you slammed the door you meant goodnight