The stretch to find cold sheets
With just a trace of her scent, White Rose
The bottle of single malt, untouched
Because its name hurt too much
Words left hanging in the air,
No ears to pick them up, mull
Toss out their reciprocation
One dirty plate in a dirty sink
I should wash them both
Who cares for their loneliness
But me.
About the author:
John writes poetry daily and has published works on Eunoia Review, Spillwords and the Edgeofhumanity.
Blog: https://underlined6.wordpress.com/
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram account to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com