There is another Inn
where we sit in cahoots,
but there is a price to pay
and in love it is hard to find the other drinking there.
In the Tavern of Sadness I cannot reach you,
nor span the chasm with smiles or tears,
only offer my soul as a ramshackle bar to lean upon,
my heart a familiar juke box beat you may recognise.
Fire side, Pain embraces too tightly, spirits burn;
we are cast deep into our own murky corners;
misery etches your damp countenance on a beer mat,
then turns her considerable talents to mine.
I am learning tho, in the tap room, to wait a while,
to emulate the wild things that you love.
My darts, tiny lights, are glow worms when your fire emits no flame.
Then, after last orders, I trust the way home you take,
singing quietly in the darkness,
breathing slow and even til you lift your beautiful eyes.
aplaceforpoetry 