Heavily I pour the glass
Heavily I pour the glass. Well cared for and proper, it neither slims nor slouches in posture. I quietly nag at it; a sudden sip here, a second sip there. Regrettably, I prefer this to be my ‘‘enough.’’ By winter, my diet is mostly meat and dark chocolate. Sweetness is now but a memory licked from inky mason jars which, like me, never leave the bedroom. They are good for too much, and I suppose, if it were not February, I would have cut flowers for the times I challenged their emptiness.