she is trying to unlock him
through a grape haze,
but her hands fumble at the keys
and the backspace is littered
with the letters she trips over
she flattens her hand
over the base of the Waterford
stem on the counter and dips
her fingers in the bowl of merlot
pinning the glass in place,
she traces the rim with her wet
index leisurely, decisively until
the crystal sings.
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