"Brut"

"Brut" 

If I made time
to look at your face,
I'd tell the truth
but all I care to see
sits still in this flute.
Silhouette yet adorned in soft light
so I can't hide from you.
Not even on late nights.
Flights from common
to the rarest of cities.
Felt the frost of regret
long after hoping you'd come with me.
The sun just fills me
with reasons to abstain.
The bubbles in this glass...
they run away from the rain
to stain this tray.
Figured they'd gain a way
to secure their getaway
but they lost their vessel. 

How have we managed? 

Advanced your vantage
from meager to militant.
Innocent in perception.
Favorable dereliction from the norm.
Used once as fear from harm
to tell the tale of half truths.
Another half flute and debate ensues.
Conversing I've come to rue:
Confirmed again that men
are truly demonic creatures
with such heavenly features.
The staunch teachers of irony.
Loathsome, tiring, uninspiring, conventional
words bred of the cynical
recited in cyclical rhythm
as often as the songs taught to toddlers.
I find her and request another bottle:

"Miss,
stay awhile.
I am throttled by my company.
Come now.
Comfort me.
Let me not suffer this alone."

Majesty upon your throne
sneering away at me,
your assumed vagabond
perceived as plotting between your legs
and those of the next waitress that smiles.
Wiles I've no reason to confirm
or beg pardon for if affirmed.
Tiles harder to walk across.
With every sip,
a slip awaits the stumbler.
Your slumber my reward.
Life is hard.
Love ain't easy.
That was painful.
I am queasy.
Found this so easy to drink.
Sipping between every blink.
Gulp til we don't care to think.
Stemware strewn across the sink.
Detergent can't wash away
anything about we.
Hungover for days
finding ways to dream about we:

About how it fizzles
and tickles when we kiss.
About our favorite year.
That one bottle we've missed. 

About how crazy gets
a little lazy when we're drunk.
About minds so hazy
we locked the keys in the trunk. 

About the only way
to ensure that we reconvene.
About how I'm an asshole
for perceiving you as mean. 

About time that is better when
it is experienced instead of measured.
About our blatant obscenities
trapped in moistened love letters. 

I highly doubt the fact
that this is a public conversing
will encourage some tact
before more yelling and cursing.
Blurt in spurts words
that the heart should never hear.
Asking you to go back home
when I still want you near.... 

Choke the tears back.
They make it taste flat
and we've paid too much in privacy
not to have something of quality. 

Call over the waitress......

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz