Last Sip

The saddest breath of the bottle is your last sip

Old dog waits in the corner for the next trick

The saddest step of the mountain is the tip

Mostly I wait at the bottom, overthink it

The saddest sound of the mourning is the dove

Singing her woes from a wire, up above

The saddest hue of desire is undone

Watching the feeling expire, till there’s none