POURED
poured the cabernet then poured out my heart
tongue loosened by a crush of grapes
uncorked, unbottled, unstoppered
all the metaphors for letting go
once begun there was no cessation
only an endless stream of oak-tinted red fueling grief-stricken confidences
three glasses in, laughter trickles from somewhere
i never knew there was a spider’s web in the lower left chamber of my heart, but hilarity precedes sadness and another pour goes ’round
spin little spider, spin.
Praying for Eyebrowz 