Bitter Wine

The smell of the grapes in your hair,
I taste the wine left in your glass,
Your clothes in a pile on the floor,
Left for me to find?
Why do you do this dance with me?
I could worship you but you don’t love me.
I let you come around because..
I love it, when you lie to me!
Stay the night, then go away.
I was born alone, I’ll go out that way.

©2014 dedhedpoet

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5 Comments Add yours

  1. johncoyote says:

    A amazing poem. Had the feel of a Leonard Cohen song. Wanting and then escaping.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. johncoyote says:

        You are welcome.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Jixi Fox says:

    🙂 🙂 🙂 – Nice title… Love this “I taste the wine left in your glass,
    Your clothes in a pile on the floor,
    Left for me to find?”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for the kind relies!
      Much appreciated, A

      Like

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