whiskey sour

love is not so easily found as it is forgotten;
crushed sweetly to its bitter end.

I see her smile
but it's really for somebody else
she will go home with somebody else

it is the inherent fate of the universe, I assume
love crushed sweetly through the soles of the gods

and I will be sitting there,
my fate
my drink,
wishing that I was anywhere but here;
that tonight, like all nights
was not my night
and like fate and love
it will all be forgotten by the end of it all
like the bitter-sweet taste of this marvelous whiskey sour