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Showing posts from July, 2018

She reeks of cheap wine and broken heart

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There are half-finished texts, She cannot send. There is a boy in the city, Who only wants to be a friend.
There are sensuous pictures, Of him circling her thin waistline. The sound of sweet nothings crystal clear, Though she is often drunk on wine.
There is not 1, not 2, But countless episodes of unbuttoned shirts. Heat seething in their bodies, Frenzy too wild to put in words.
There is 2 am, There is 5 pm love-making too. There is enough to call them lovers, Between these 2.
It ought to be a poem, About naked lovers and wrinkled bed sheets. Not a melancholic prose, Of lovers fighting on streets.
O' how she has changed? From Chanel No. 5 to cheap wine. She even reeks of a broken heart, Though she claims to be fine.
Nobody knows what went wrong? Not even they. But we all know, It's not okay.
Love is a one-way street, Once lovers can never be friends. You never plant the dead flowers, It has to end.
She reeks of cheap wine and broken heart, now all-day-long. When the only way to mend everything, Is by being stro…

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