Bird with the broken wing
2am and full
A drink.
A sip.
I sip you and you sink me.
The empty bottle,
is the saddest sight.
Though my reflection,
Is sadder still.
Oh misery is part and partial,
when your at my side.
though at times,
particularly,
In the early hours,,
when all that’s alive,
is the dead.
Heaven suddenly makes sense.
Sometimes I wish I’d handled you better,
as if,
coming across a bird,
with a broken wing,
wanting it,
to fly again.
To heaven it goes,
as the story goes,
I bury the bottle,
next to the bird,
with the broken wing.
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