The Last Inch
glass-refracted rays into your eyes,
whispered words between your lips.
I neither knew nor imagined
it would all run dark
well before the setting of the sun
below the sharp contour of reachless hills.
The place, the sky, your face.
It did the very moment
you put down your empty flute
by the pristine tableware,
turning away your stare,
a desert in your heart.
Mine was still full to the brim.
Poet’s Notes: Breaking up has always a peculiar taste, at times bittersweet. The poem refers to an old relationship of mine which actually ended while sipping a glass of fizz, even though I have embellished the tale a bit. It was a strange moment; we both knew it had long been brewing. Despite the unpleasant associations, I still like fizz. A lot.
Editor’s Note: Ah, desert instead of dessert. Alessio captures the moment well here. The mood is haunting, and, even though the topic is an old one, the presentation is fresh.
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