Even he had forgotten about it.
The green glass dressed in years of dust..
Some things are better with age.
The color is old motor oil, and the scent
a crushed velvet dress, damp with her sweat and
perfume I can't remember the name of.
Yes, some things are better with age.
The stemmed glass swirls crimson in the tinkling laughter.
Now the magic of twelve years sleep passes my lips.
It is better with age.
Deeper, more mysterious and sage, the way I should be.
Savor every drop of sunlight from this bottle.
We only had the one,
a gift of days gone by,
and memories that fade with age.