The sound of the dripping faucet
keeps banging in my ears.

Like the ominous ticking
of a doomsday clock,
counting the seconds
since you closed the door.

Bourbon
slides down my throat,
quietly drowning my thoughts
in a river of amber
and smoke.

The sound of the summer rain
keeps drumming on the window.

Like the distant roaring
of an ancient ocean
where old loves and memories
die.

A single tear
runs down my cheek,
the last survivor
of the life
we shared.

The sound of the pouring bourbon
keeps ringing in my glass.

Like a whispered lullaby
from an aging muse
patiently devouring
my soul.