WHISKEY AND WINE
He searched for her love at the bottom of a bottle, his soliloquy grew as the intensity from each sip increased.
As the novelty of his sobriety wore off, he expressed deep emotions, he dwelt on his final moments with her, watching her leave, as she walked through the door of his heart, slamming it shut.
And now he’s left with hope that the intoxication from every sip will replace that feeling of being with her.
When she said the words goodbye, he died a little bit inside, the part of him that was true.
Through love, he lost.
True love, oh the cost.
He thought he won her heart, but there he sat, with an empty feeling and a bottle of whiskey.
Faded with each glass, trying to find that spark; too risky.
He looked beneath the surface, and tried to hide, but she kept knocking at his door, not her, but the memories of her.
Memories he tries to forget because it hurts to remember,
All the memories stand and stare back at him, as they wait for him to look up to the stars, like amber.
Their story, written in the stars, every time they twinkle, he remembers every kiss, and every moment.
His infinite gaze into her soul’s galaxy, the skies those stars above would prefer.
And if I he writes, he writes her, he writes fondly, lovely, but sadly he thought, these words can’t replace, No! they can’t take her place.
Whiskey, Wine, risky but Devine,
Oh, how it takes him back to the moments when his soul and hers intertwine; and every time it left him feeling nostalgic.
With every sip, she takes his sobriety, he becomes intoxicated by her, it’s like magic.
The feeling from each glass of wine, gets intimate with his lips, taking him to utopia, the kind of intimacy that makes two souls one.
And every shot of whiskey, sets his soul ablaze, flames of love lost.
If he had a Penny for every time he thought of her, he’ll be the most wanted like Pablo.
Just because she raised the bar like Escobar.
Memories of her lives in his pen, his heart and his infinite gaze unto the starry night. He promised to remember her fondly, honestly and lovely.
Like whiskey a fine woman deserves that gaze before the drink, and like wine your memories here will age fine.
In an instant he thought, If she loved me, why did she leave, was forever just another lie from her lips? I guess our forever had an exit door.
How didn’t I see it? I guess my love was really blind, no escape plan, because forever was the plan.
He hoped, she was happy in the arms of another, hoped he writes her, paints her; body and soul.
She took a piece of him with her, he wanted her to keep it, he wanted a piece of him to keep her whole.
And as he wrote his last letter to her, he dipped his quill in red ink from the corners of his heart, hoping that every word serves as veins that flows from his to hers.
“My dear, our story is not told by my pen alone, it’s forever written in the stars.
It’s endless just like the skies on a starry night, for the night would always be a reminder that we once believed in forever.
A tale of lies told by two lovers.
And if you ever try reaching out, just look up to the stars between us.
I’ve moved on with someone new and darling, I’m re-writing the stars”.
The King
Arthur-Daniel
@yourpenship