As the syrupy liquid fills the glass it sparkles and dances in a thousand crystal triangles of winter, washed and blended gold and jasmine. I drink the ice-cold albari?o, refill my glass and go back to the white sofa. Her shadow passes before me, swiping the room to before and after. G fills her glass, sits on the floor and looks at me through those spectral stone washed eyes I fell for eight years ago. Since then, I have come to know her manners...
Related Subjects
Poetry