Merlot

I spilled red wine on the carpet –
a pool of honeyed maroon. My hand went limp.
I wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

I fall asleep on the couch dreaming of your eyes,
swimming in those little flecks of jade and cool forest green.
I spilled red wine on the carpet.

I hang my harried heart on the clothesline in my backyard.
It dries up, unbeating, and floats away in the wind.
I wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

I’m lost in the daytime: unfocused, blurred, colorless.
Evenings become stained lips and slippery fingers.
I spilled red wine on the carpet.

I drag my feet in the dirt road behind your apartment:
the sun sinks into the clouds, the sky turns grey. I turn grey.
I wake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

Your fingertips haunt the outlines of my face, leaving
crimson fog and ghosts on my cheekbones;
Again, I spilled red wine on the carpet.
Again, I awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

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