(Poem from the 2017 edition of Signet Literary Magazine)
I was the 1947 Monfortino
you had saved up for &
uncorked out of celebration.
My warm lust slid down your throat
but you weren’t used to the taste
of something so rare &
full of opinion.
You drank me slowly,
trying to digest the stories
housed in each individual drop,
but your efforts grew tired
& I sat, collecting dust,
while my passions soured,
watching you enjoy cheaper wine.
Image published in Signet 2017: Whitehall Place, by Ally Bush