standing here
comfortable and incomplete
i have this thick brown box
of moderately priced wine
sitting majestically
on my cluttered kitchen island
and when i press that thick
rubbery red button
to fill my smoky black
dollar store glass
it swirls symmetrically
in the most magnificent circle
a circle of life
a circle of death
a circle of infinity
and, momentarily lost
in a deep red haze
of inebriation and coriolis force
i just want to keep filling my cup
watching for a perfect pattern to emerge
but as i stand here captivated
fate deems my fluid evening destiny
nearly complete
and swings my tired senses
in an opposing direction
toward the slow fascination
of wicked flowers
lost to the gods