The Coldest Glass of Wine
Updated on August 18, 2014
The body has it's secrets and guards them carefully.
before you came today and uttered the first words of your first sentence...
When I could still think.
Before.
Before your words lulled me into another world.
Undulating in pleasure.
A slow moving wave at low tide.
I wondered how it would be.
Painless, of course.
A prick of sedation perhaps.
Or is the lilt of your voice enough?
will there be tools used on me?
Drills or suctions?
Will you ease past an eyeball, finagle through a nostril.
tiny, silver blades dicing.
Or will you use your own body on my body.
They seem to get along.
The pores of your tongue,like an old friend.
Familiar and knowing.
Will my love abort slowly?
Or will it gush?
As I have gushed times before,
Animal grunts...
Will I push,giving birth?
Expelling what was not meant to be.
Or will my memories leave in another way?
A dry,sour cough?
After it's over...
Can it really be over?
Will there be evidence?
Something secreted away in a gleaming jar.
Flushed down an industrial sink.
Or just that breathe on your cheek.
All is forgotten...all is forgiven.
It was just one of those things.
You knew my bodies secrets,
Released the hidden fluids, mixed with your own.
Before you came.
When I could still think.
Before.
I was wondering why it had to end.
And if I should see you,
After this day.
Will I even recognize you.
And If I do, will I ask you to tea.
Or maybe even a glass of wine?
Just.
One.
Glass.