Your fingers curl around
The stem of the wine glass
But not too tightly,
Moving up and down,
Long fingers leaving
A slight smudge
Where they’ve been,
Your mouth poised
At the rim
Where the red wine is
Red lips slipping red wine
As your fingers go
Up and down,
Slowly, steadily,
A calculated gesture
I can’t help but watch,
Lips parting for each sip
Red wine dripping
At the corners of your mouth,
Like blood,
But not blood,
Like my blood
Rather than wine.
No comments:
Post a Comment