Blood Red Wine

Drinking in bed, and the gradual replacement of romance with contentment.

A drink,
Just a glass.
With a smile,
As we pass.

My hand extends to reach
And grasp.
Without a blink,
Or thought,
For what it means.
For she, or me,
This glass of wine, sat potent
as a bomb.
In front of me.

As she returns,
I drink.
Too deep.
Our eyes don't meet.
This is no movie script.
Or chain of destiny.
Just half a glass of wine,
In front of me.

An empty glass.
Beside my bed.
It's dregs a trap,
for all
of those unwitting bugs,
That stumble in,
while I'm asleep.
With her curled up just here,
By me.