The Bottle

The stench of the liquor;

It clings to your breath.

Like I clung to you,

Though you scared me to death.

 

The veins in your eyes;

Are bright pink and red.

Like you face when we jumped

On your newly made bed.

 

Every step that you take;

You lean and you sway.

Like the trees in our yard,

On a strong windy day.

 

The sound of your voice;

Is angry and slurred.

Like the poems I wrote,

My eyes tearful and blurred.

 

And the gleam of the bottle,

hiding in your shirts;

Will keep you in dreamland,

And numb all your hurt.