They say
friends in low places
have top shelf truths in lowball glasses.
So I pour
all I have never said,
salting the rim,
the edge of goodbye
ready to grace my lips.
longing, loss,
a left voicemail in a glass,
your name,
bottled in bond,
aged in toasted-oak regret.
I request it neat,
but it never finishes clean.
It's never a mirror
if you drink to the edge
of oblivion
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.