Violets Vino

19 Crimes – The Warden


19 Crimes – The Warden


The Wine


You can keep time on me. Go ahead. For an object of desire there is no need to hustle. You whip up a hot fuss and see how little attention I can pay. I will just sit right here and trouble you effortlessly with my cranberry and my pine, my licorice and my velour. My dust and my weight and my spice. I know you’d give anything to sink teeth or lay hands. I could not care less how you got here. We both know what freedom does when it isn’t properly used.


Sheaves 12: P, 21


The paper wrapping on the half-built house next door rattles like a heist by amateurs when the wind blows. The sound keeps my mind busy, calls up both the finished and the unfinished, the conspiracy on either side of that line. For months, I let you be my fretwork. My disabling feature. Anymore I am scarcely reminded of you. I must admit the flock of worry birds that fidgets in my heart when I consider how startlingly close to accepting whatever crude invitation you cast I came. When I was at my most desperate for water I took a drink of yours and it was a fistful of tire iron. You pushed me from a moving vehicle when I had nothing to say. That will not keep me from hating the greasy taste of your industry.





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