i left your wine glass
on my bedside table
for seven days
it settled in the very place
that your hands had aimlessly
chosen
staining a ring around a mostly empty bodice.
mostly empty?
barely full?
you see, for me,
the wine glass was
my way of having you
stay as long as I wanted.
I saw your delicate
fingerprints stamped upon
the stem and body
just as they were on mine, under a tin roof
amidst a blanket of summer rain.
......
i washed the glass tonight
as you boarded the plane to the rest of your life.
i wonder if you'll think of me as you sip on your complimentary glass.
rouge ou blanc, mon amour?
rouge comme mon amour?
ou blanc comme mon remise?
-Anna Blake