Wine

The best loves go sour
once fruitful,
grapes of wrath made into bitter wine
the poison-selfishness starting from the vine
Vineyard wires, the only support
and with a steely grip, they hold me to you

Your lips were once sweet
saying words I’d only dream to hear,
still drunken words, the furthest sip from sincere
I thought you turned from water
The scoffers tried to warn
I was willing to be blind and torn

You toppled me over, spilt me on the ground
I seeped into the earth, where no hands came to lift me
A broken bottle, forgotten, ignored, unsound
I still wouldn’t believe,

You’d promised me you’d keep
Your promises.

But you are the cheap wine
that untamed girls steal from the cellar
for an excuse to “have a good time”
and when you’re used up,
left in the bed of an old pick-up truck,
the morning dew, will bead on you, and

Reveal the wrappings gone,
the edges rough, forever able to cut,

yet

You’re still an empty bottle.