Here I am
Writing poetry again
Instead of talking to you

And months pass again and we dream.
And we don't even remember the other's voice, 'cause we try so hard to erase it all.
And all we have left is sensations.

her breath on your neck
the hand that wipes the tears from your cheek
the cigarette smell mixed with her perfume

Or  how her long hair would ****** you
and how any small part of her would grasp on to you
even though,
through words
she would say something completely different.

And months would pass again.
And when it is best for us,
Fate would bring us back to remind us of things that,
such fools,
we thought we forgot.

There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done