bruise berry

bruise berry

sipping wine

through bruised berry lips,

teeth bared

moon yellow

in wincing appreciation,

he exhales slow grape.

the amount in the glass

never changes.

as though each long stream sip

replaces itself

instantly.

i feel that there is wisdom

in this old man, that

i have missed.

passing his left hand over the glass,

he winks slowly in my direction.

wine raining

from his worn palm,

as he refills his glass.

forever.