Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye

I said goodbye
to another bottle today,
the last of the Traverse City
chardonnay, three swigs,
the gritty remains

of decaying cork spit
into the sink. You left it here
and made me promise
not to drink it,

but it's been nearly a year now
without a word and I guess
you won't mind.

I would like to tell you
that I am starting over
yet again, the lonely nights
of loud music and too much gin,

the frenetic dancing, the tears,
the second-guessing and
tossing and turning,

but I know where once
you would have had
the right things to say,

now you'd have nothing
but cold words that
would only make these
unbearable nights hotter.

I've kissed too many women
goodbye on the rims of
bottles, and now that the wine
is gone, I can work on the whiskey,

a taste that will linger far longer
than the stains on sheets
and the rubber on pavement
stretching too many miles from here.