Wine.

Mon, 05/29/2017 - 18:42 -- mkat323

I am sitting in a hotel room, staring at a three dollar bottle of wine when I realize that I do not have a corkscrew. There is blood on the towels in the bathroom which I do not dare revisit and I remember the first time you held me. you were so gentle, like the quivering grip of hands on wet glass, too scared to let go, to let me fall to shards on the ground. You were afraid they'd hurt you, too. 

I am sitting in a hotel room ,staring  at a three dollar bottle of wine, watching the sweat roll off the neck. I remember the first time I let you touch me. Your bosy was like the sun, sparking off in warm but angry waves, but I can not stand too close to the sun and watch my skin pop and crackle and melt away and still say that it loves me.

I am sitting in a hotel room, staring at a three dollar bottle of wine, turning the label over and over in my damp hands. I remember the first time I let you kiss me, the first time I let you hit me,burn my skin with words too blunt to scar my skin. and I sit in this hotel room, searching and begging and crying out of a corckscrew when I realize

It's a good thing that 3 dollar bottles of wine always have a twist off lid. 

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me

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