Cool for cats.

Cool for cats.

If you find the one

Hold on tight

I did.

She went from here

But not from there

I see her

At the bottom of the glass

The end of the bed

The corner of the room

I know you do too

I drink to remember

Forgetting would be hell

You think this is a poem

But it’s not

It’s a pain in my backside

A scratch I can’t itch

A knife to the ribs

A shallow grave

To wait beside

Do you still wait

For god knows what

Listen for the sound

Of her breathing

Or his snoring

It is more than loss

As it is an overflow

An outpouring

So much to remember

If I was a poet

There are too many of them

As you know

But if I was one

I would write a verse

With feeling

Etched into the spaces

Between each word.

Too many poets

Think rather than feel

I guess there must be a balance

Between the two

But when it comes to love

It’s never what you think

That counts

It’s what you feel.