Dry Day Poem by Shikha Gupta

The connoisseur.

He owns a glass of wine to his hand
Takes in a mouthful.
He swirls it around nice and easy
And waits.

The anticipation.

Of being encapsulated
Of being owned
Of losing victorious
Of the calm
And the chaos.

The heady feeling.

The connoisseur
He spits it out.

The fear.

Of being one with the wine
Of being one with himself.

Intoxicated.

Secrets were undone
Tears were lost
No one cared.
You held your wine
And the wine held you.

Inebriated.

The joyful lightness of being
Warm darkness, cold sighs.
Translate.

Your mouth.

Too crass for the liquid
Too strong for the glass
Too cold for the fire.
Just right to spit.

The wine.

Set aside your glass.
They've all been drunk
Who came to drink.
Consumed.

The denial.

That you were too.
That you always have been
Meant for beer.