Weak Grounds

 

grounds

The black wetness turned into the big trash can,
Refuse with use, not giving them a second chance.
Truculent she is.

Damn stubborn. Unyielding. Downward spiral
Goes the leftover swirling red tomato juice,
Vodka signified a truce,

Though shortly lived, then round we go til morning
Shouts but hoarse from shouting, more like bleats
Oh well, a least we paused to eat.

Truculent. Of course. All right then. That’s it.
I should have used those grounds for one more run
Of weaker coffee, shit!

I guess – guess at what her meaning was in pause.
Her meaning of my unsolved mysteries, her pleas,
Of forest not the trees.

To try and understand her love, unselfish and still
It seemed to me to kill, my insides and leave instead
A hole where heart had gone unfed,

So long now eating cereal at dinner, not certain
My hunger is for an honest meal or rather not,
Just coffee, sugared and hot.

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About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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