Last Night

Her red print stays on wine glasses over night, The sticks tell the tale from last nights ash tray, A dried mouth that speaks with an alcohol scent, that is soaked with an emptiness of regret. ‘Why didn’t I take the cab home last night?’ ‘Who was it that I kissed and said that I liked?’ Her coat, like a shield , plays saviour to her face, To hide what is most valued and clearly disgraced, Laying there, curled up, with remnants of the night, Phone checked, no food, remembering what might.. ‘Why didn’t I take the cab home last night?’ ‘Who was it that I kissed and said that I liked?