Lovers

By Kelle Grace Gaddis

Leggy wines red, ruby, white and pink
half held tenderly in low-light, a spent lover’s grip
around an empty glass.
Too exhausted to let go.
Unwilling to imagine life
beyond the soft velvety kisses of these
smoky, tawny and floral muses whose
siren’s call promise relief from sorrow.
These hollow voices whisper inside your head
until they raise to shameless shouts
more, more, more!
The implausibility of change
who, like me, insist you forgive everyone
including yourself.
Are you afraid you’ll realize you are no longer young?
Are you more brilliant by the glass?
With a grin you tell me not to nag.
Your hands wrap around a new ones body
You tug and pull at her foil even as we discuss
your health and my unhappiness.
Sticking your screw in deep, uncorking her
while saying it is me you really love.
Holding her up before putting her down
Insisting, all the while, it is meaningless.