drink red wine
in a finely
crafted glass,
I imbibe
your memory
over the
paper-thin
lip,
see your
crystal clear
oceanic-blue
eyes
staring
directly into
mine piercing
my soul
like two
silver-blue needles
painstakingly threaded,
see your
dirty-blonde
not-too-oft-washed
hair framing
your face
which I remember now
was, somehow, dusted pink with sun and
rife with pores and
damp with sweat and
pierced
at the nostril
with a silver
ring.
………………
©erika haines 2014
