Flowing Bordeaux

Quietly she sits
in her mind's eye, she replays
the events
silent
black and white movie
of a couple she doesn't recognise anymore—
last nights dishes still strewn on the table
the open bottle of Bordeaux
a '96 vintage has long since surrendered itself from the bottle
though her new Riedel glasses sit empty
overturned graceful neck
cascading burgundy
from mahogany table top
to box gum floor
pooled
like blood—
no body though
full bodied wine instead
gone to waste
evidence illustrates the tale
a happy celebration
quickly turned—
black
cusses
loud voices escalating
saturated wine seeps
disappears
outlines a map of their rage—
no amount of scrubbing will erase the stain
the scar
permanent on the floor
on her heart