It is easier to talk to you,
Now that you are gone
Where things have been sour,
Now The feelings I have pour to your glass like fine wine.
I still want to know the reasons and all the in between,
I must be at fault
I know this as my facts,
That has always been my tale
I watch my spots
It’s somehow always in some bar,
For your lonely eyes glancing the room,
I am now left with only bar tabs and napkins with simple poetry written to retire my desires of you.