Swirling in this cloudy glass bottle
The last dregs of love, a few drop’s worth.
They had left none for me and had
taken it all for themselves.
But they are mere drunk fools;
One morning they will wake up with
a migraine stuck in their head
and a broken heart beating their chests.
One day I will watch them being felled by the wine of love,
and I will laugh.
What is a lover but a fleeting night or day?
What is a lover but the only thing that can twist your heart so terribly
you can feel it bleed inside?
What is a lover but a monster that will seal you inside your shell,
leaving you to grieve for what was?
Rhetoric, a few hour’s worth
in my unbroken head.
is a killer that you welcome into your home.
Yet, I pick up the bottle, swirl its contents.
tip it over
let its last breaths
into my waiting heart.