Yesterday's wine glass sits on a cluttered coffee table.
a dry, crusted circle of red is all that remains
of a cirlce of sounds.
Laughs, exclamations,
the clink of drinks
and the stretching of smiles.
I don't know if you actually wanted to come here.
I don't know if you actually enjoyeed yourself;
sitting there drinking out of yesterday's wine glass.
But now it sits
catching the morning sun on it's finger-print-smudged glass,
a chalice of thoughts.
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