They call it Devils Cut
90 proof, a bottle full
of liquid luck.

I drown myself-
in the bottle of
delicious lustful
drunkenness

Waiting for you
to come home to me.

But-

I will never have you-
As I want you.
Your love runs deep-
deep into my bones.

There will always be
remnants of you, crawling
through my skin.

The gentle breeze of a
summers wind-
Reminds me of
every hanging whim.

I love you dearly
and the devil
cut my heart-
ever so cleanly.

You are no where
near, and never will be.

Always an invisible force-
waking me from my dreams.
© 2015 Christina Jackson