"good luck in love" she said...

this bottle of wine is almost done
and now I can remember why I drink,
why I write

but this is where there is no love to be had,
no flower of chance,
no light,
no love

just the emptiness of
another bitter lonely
night.

I'm at the edge and
now my words have run as dry
as my spirit.

but there is nothing more to be said,
I've wasted my romantic
reverie on a woman who is taken
and I've have mused
beyond what is fair

I am sad like a dead angel.

I only wish for love in my
purest of intentions...

as for van gogh,
he cut of his ear and
painted for it.
then found love in his art.
(as for the other type of love,
it never arrived...)

but this bottle of wine, my only friend,
is now done
and now waits another.

but where there is no love,
no woman,
no chance,
there is a bottle
waiting
and another
after that.

who could want anything more then that.