A glass of wine—
I’m a little dizzy.
The air smells like you,
and I miss you,
I miss that autumn
when our happiness
would brush against my soul,
when your hand
held mine tightly,
and your mouth kissed me with hunger,
as though my taste
had always been your wine.
I hold the glass now,
my hand gone numb,
much like my heart
since you left.
Memories spill before my eyes.
Autumn will come again and again.
But autumn now carries only
the scent of your absence,
the hollow feeling
you left inside me.
Your hand will never touch mine again.
My mouth will no longer be wine for you.
And you—
no one will ever bring you back.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 5:39 PM UTC
A glass of wine—
I’m a little dizzy.
The air smells like you,
and I miss you,
I miss that autumn
when our happiness
would brush against my soul,
when your hand
held mine tightly,
and your mouth kissed me with hunger,
as though my taste
had always been your wine.
I hold the glass now,
my hand gone numb,
much like my heart
since you left.
Memories spill before my eyes.
Autumn will come again and again.
But autumn now carries only
the scent of your absence,
the hollow feeling
you left inside me.
Your hand will never touch mine again.
My mouth will no longer be wine for you.
And you—
no one will ever bring you back.