there is a bottle of sparkling muscat by my clock
that reads, almost one
dark. inviting. wrapped in pink foil.
rimmed with gold.
pop a cork in one ear and out the other
that’s the way we dance around
the mulberry bush
joyfully seeking pleasure
knowing where to find it
trying to resist it
knowing it will make us sick
tomorrow crying into the phone.
it was on impulse that i purchased you,
you were pretty and came highly recommended
at an honourable establishment
you were chosen for me by
one who had already tasted your pleasures.
they say you’re bubbly.
they say you’re sweet.
they say your fragrance is intoxicating.
and there you wait for me,
and there I will keep you,
bottle of sparkling muscato
Petale,
Il vino dell’Amore,
my love,
by the clock that reads a little past one.
