In my mind's eye
I still see you sometimes
Swirling a glass of red wine
That rests in your right hand
Like a lifeline.

Your left points at me
Beckoning me to you
With the arrorgance of age,
The age of someone who
Should know better
But chooses to be
Ignorantly obstinate
Instead.

Another night,
You sit, red wine in
Your right hand
A novel of some sorts
In your left.
The cover depicts some
Modern art, the sort I
Never cared to understand
But you always cared
To tell me about.

I should interrupt
But you are absorbed
In it's enclosing pages
And your tongue
Wriggles free from
Your mouth like a serpent
As you focus
As if betraying
The skin underneath
The real skin.

The red wine stains
Your teeth
And I deliberate
But eventually decide
To leave you there.
Focused as you are,
It seems silly to interrupt
A little foolish even
To pause the great mind
Just to tell you
That I am going
And that
You will never
See me again.