Tango and Wine

A bottle stands alone, half-full
Its dark brown glass reflects a thin strip of light
And echoes a peculiar note that grows and grows
Suddenly it is a waterfall flooding the people and their gaze
Opening them as flowers, each petal a smile.
She ties them with a song and holds them
As a proud bride engaged to a multitude of hearts
The bottle goes up to her lips and swings across the stage
No droplets, they would never try to escape.
They are glad to be gulped down and made into art
Into words and blood and sweat and shout and laugh.
You’ve never seen such a liquid form of happiness.
The handsaw sparkles and serenades
Cutting the air in a delicate way
Dividing the veils between the worlds
And those outside do not understand our songs
They claim we are insane and chanting and untamed
Luckily the reality is not theirs
Neither are our days, our nights
Our dance and our wine.
The tango goes on, reverberating on the walls
Entangling the legs, the tongues, all a valuable mess
A work of art made of spilled affection and love
A much more committed matter
Than the oppressive strokes of a brush.
The masterpiece of the night is done.

