A red bottle of Chateau Margaux
on my shelf with other precious
things I leave unopened. You
watch me get drunk
on eight millimeter movies at night
until we are both blank as walls.
My shadow mimes me. Maybe
forgiveness is found
in someone else’s house. I
try to keep my attic chest closed
like a jar of winter cherries. You
say open a window. I say I don’t know
how to swallow the sun. You
say love is a dying rose.