Red wine

Rioja as a go-to. Primitivo on the really good nights.

The problem is, he knows my soul.

And my soul is somehow entangled
with his.
And he senses me without looking,
and nothing about this feels wrong
to me.

Dopey.
Go, grab the bottle.

He calms me like wine.
Flows with my pulse,
seeps into every corner of my body,
spreading a strange but familiar warmth.
He soaks my heart in sweet despair.
Lightheaded,
I sink heavily and deeply
into this false, momentary lullaby.
This daze keeps me alive,
intoxicated by possible scenarios,
drunk in…
no, it’s not that.
He knows.
But still,
tell me all the lies,
tell me all the truths,
I cannot keep them apart
anyways
I do(n’t) give a shit
this is dangerous
this is mad
cheers.

Btw. I only like you sober.

xxj

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