the wineglass

lips stained
and bitten
that pale pink
touched by
too much
pinot noir
on a winter’s night
with words whispered
and dreams
and shattered
all at once
and so you sip
feel every drop
slide down your
protesting throat
because tis better
to have dreamed
then drowned them
than to feel them shatter
around your pretty feet

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Basically, I deal in words.

One thought on “the wineglass”

  1. There was a time I wrote hundreds of poems but for some reason stopped in large part, but I love this poem and Im going to write again today because of it. Awesome

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