Why you weave
the web you do
while sliding down
with cork unscrewed,

the bottle squeezes
without release
as she mixes with me
it's just disease,

as the bottle tips
she's poured, I stay,
to collect her dew
to admire her stain,

and she is off
into another mouth
to slide down slow,
to infect the town,

as I am shaken,
but never stirred
she's left me wanton
a mirror blurred.

I squint to see
the world outside
as your stain makes shapes
where no shapes should lie.

I was carried once
after our split
and they dropped me here
like a foster kid,

and I met another
a white, little red,
she rolls me around
she's barely dead.

Then it came
like springtime rain
I left my bottle
swam through the stain,

and free I was
in the mouth of another
yet the thing about stains,
you became my color.

So here I sit
in the belly of the beast
with your scent on my being
still waiting for release...

03/03/2014