We each have our own
individual sadness.
Like a fine wine.
I drink it down.
Some tastes better
than others.
I drink hers down.
Then open another bottle.
We much prefer red over white.
Dry over sweet.
Though there have been those who’ve poured
and those who’ve carelessly spilled.
But none like this.
None so direct.
Covered in a deep, warm red
I much prefer her careful aim
as she throws the Cab into my face –
Betty Davis style.
Words Of An Average White Male 
Oh my goodness – to think that you’ve had no comments on this one so far! Absolutely worthy of praise. Wonderful lines and love how you show your strength through your lines.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much Sumyanna!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome!
LikeLike
Thank you for your interest in my blog. I look forward to following yours.
LikeLike