here i am again,
a blank sheet of paper in front of me
a pen in my right hand
and a glass of whisky on the other,
i’m wondering how could my words ever do justice to you?

the warmth,
the kindness,
the moans,
the sighs,
the tantrums,
the grace on those pains,
the groove when you dance,
the lilt in your laugh,
the vestiges of nights we spent,

and i asked myself
what i’ll have left to write
when my love for you bleeds all my words out of me.