A black brimmed book sits on the wall
and I stare at the phone praying she’d call.
It may be over but I can’t not believe
there isn’t a shot she won’t leave.
Three beers later and this feeling isn’t greater.
I should call – I won’t call: I debate her.
It’s getting later.
I’m getting Drunk.
Nothing will happen
And I will go to bed.
I can’t comprehend
so I’m going to bed.