Prosecco in the yard. Just for me.
Constant bees buzzing in my ears…;
come home. , come further into the brawl.
We sing together, a sticky choir…
Always in the wind,, blowing away..,
Away.
Leaves call ‘come with me’,, knowing
wherever they land, may be their Rot,
their Die..
Did we disappear then.., or now?
Only when, do you see me?
Maybe I’ve been rotting,, but now that you see me, I may scream.
Now that you see me,, I want to make a sound.
And I want you to pour love in a glass.
From a bottle of prosecco
You bought just for me.
— 5/14
This is the first poem I wrote in my mini-book series. Written for a relationship I was not meant to be in, and used substances to numb/dull my better urges to be and become something greater than who I was when with this person. One day he bought me mini bottles of prosecco ‘just for me’ to enjoy.
I’ve never been a drinker.
