Blood Red Wine

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.

As I place the second glass on the tray,

My eye catches on my graceful, slender fingers.

So out of place, performing such a cold-blooded task.

Back and forth, back and forth.

The smooth, red liquid caresses the sides of the glass,

Sloshing gently from side to side,

As I draw nearer to my victim.

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.

Two deep, crimson wells of perfection.

Both so shallow, yet so deep.

Both seemingly identical, yet vitally different.

I take a glass, she takes the other

We raise the cups to our lips.

She smiles at me, as my knees buckle.

I chose the wrong glass.

The light is already fading,

My eyes beginning to close.

But I watch as the red trickles between the broken glass.

Such a beautiful thing it is, the wine.