In the beginning, I was the wine glass.
Now I am the bottle. Inside me, bobbing
In the liquid like buoys, are eyeballs.
They enhance the flavor; make sweet
Wine fruity, turn dry wine arid.
As a bottle, I have a mouth,
Yet no tongue to taste what floats
Within me. I am jealous of lips
That tilt me at an angle proper
For a kiss, and then suck, slurp and swallow
The wine–and eyeballs–within me.
As I am returned to an upright position,
Less full but not yet empty, I secretly
Hope whoever drunk from me
Chokes on one of my eyeballs.
*Written Feb. 19, 2013 at Outside The Fence Writing Workshop in Baltimore, MD. Inspired by artwork by Peggy Hayes
A. J. Hayes
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