Still Life with Five Bottles: Vincent van Gogh
Collecting sins in old bottles, the days reach out and drop them
in like pebbles, still smelling of fond river beds. Yesterday, it was
the temptation of an improbable love, too big to fit into that
slim hipped flask, but sin is pliable, twists and changes as it is
gathered, as we change its name, change its colour, make it
bearable in the morning. When all those hours, all those words,
all that feel of skin on skin has been corked, when the bottles fill
the shelves and rooms and toss and turn on the breasts of the
tides, when everything has been cleansed and bathed and the rain
never stops falling, tell me then, when did love become a mistake.
Thank you Lorette C. Luzajic, for publishing my poem at The Ekphrastic Review.