The Wine, It Fades
The lost volume invites pain (or, fuck, I’ve run out of wine).
White, red, perhaps rosé,
Still, my gaze, it rests.
I see the void.
I search, but
The bottle held aloft, the final drop it teases so, like a dance in the night on the moonlit hill.
The promise of more, a lie, betrayed,
I cannot go on.
It teases me still. I hear the faint whisper of a taste but it does not come.
Why did I only buy one bottle?
Empty glass reflects my darkened soul.
I retire to bed, alone at last.
Next time I will make use of the two-for-one offer at Tesco.