Seasons Change

 

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Summer Scents
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The cork released, the bottle waved,
    just below her nose. 2:10.
    Breathe.
    Bubbles tickle, a scent of pears
    and citrus, the taste of summer.
Damn you, for making me wait, she
    whispers. She smiles.
    2:15, he said. He was never late.
    The bottle set on ice, denying herself
    the indulgence, preferring the       sensation of want. Intoxicating.
    Prosecco.
    Crisp and clear
    an afternoon by the pool
    Just a few minutes. Soon.
    Breathless, with anticipation.
She said she would never wait,
    but this
    is different.

Autumn Sense

The bottle shouts
    into a space tainted by the dread
    of autumn.
    Colourless the air,
    deep burgundy takes over. Malbec,
    Clouding reality.
    Clearing the mind.
    She disappears into the evening
    thoughtlessly ignoring
    all she should not.
    Night after night the bottle calls out
Damn you, she whispers to the stillness.
    She accepts the reality, but not
    the pain.
    As dawn approaches, time remains
    shrouded in thoughts once ignored.
I can’t do this any more, she screams.
    Nobody can hear, not even
    her self.
© 2015 j.g. lewis
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April is Poetry Month
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