Bittersweet in November

No sign leaves me as

Dead

As no sign from you.

At the end of the world

My home has become 

The place I used to live at,

And you, probably 

Out for a drink with friends,

Handing out smiles like 

Confetti.

White Russian, Daiquiri,

Rebelde,

My thoughts are sweet

While my heart is sour,

And no one to decorate it

With oranges,

Pineapples,

Fruits that are damned to

Talk of Carribean places.

Will you remember

That once my mouth

Was sweet as well,

Creamy and sticky

With the leftovers of

Your cocktail,

And that we had

The same way

Home

And no one of us 

Had to pose questions 

Like

Your place or mine?