Pinot

Some mistakes define you,

others break you.

You were the latter.

For so long we were a haven,

a refuge forged in a language known only to us.

-

Now I stand in the wreckage,

barely able to look at the rubble

without the sharp edges piercing my eyes.

Salt laden tears stream down my face,

Cheeks burn to the touch.

-

I smooth the front

of my stained linen dress,

pushing away the thoughts

of her silk gown, blush roses,

and gleaming smile.

-

Do you ever think of that night?

I do.

The way it felt to run my fingers through coarse hair,

the lingering taste of Pinot on your tongue,

a flicker of flames in your eyes,

as though it were the first time

you’d seen me as a woman.

-

I drowned that night, countless times,

in your lips,

your flesh,

your need.

-

I surrendered to the way

you consumed every inch of me.

I let myself love you,

in all the ways you didn’t love me,

in all the ways you loved her.

-

I stare out the window,

trees almost bare as the wind strips away

the last of the yellowing foliage.

I’d always thought you’d come back,

like spring bringing life back

to those desolate branches.

-

It was foolish of me

to think that you’d hold on to the past,

when she held your future

in the swell of her belly.

-

Still, I hope that long after the sun has set,

in the quiet of night,

your guilty conscience keeps you awake,

haunted by the memory

of a pinkie promise,

and a girl who lives in the shadow

of a boy she no longer names.