speak of
silence
in this
dark cellar
and pour
me
another glass.
the wine
tastes of
regrets
a thousand
conversations
spoken in
anger;
it tastes
bitter:
like the
salt
of tears
dripping into
one’s glass
in the
throes
of grief.
each sip
perfumed
by the
lingering
haunting
bewitching
bewildering
scent of
lost youth
and a
love
gone sour.
mutely,
i raise
my glass
to you:
to all
we had,
to all
we lost.
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