Wine Bottles
Wednesday, March 4th, 2009
More passion can be found in the wine than in the bodies, swallowed down, red or white, the results artificial and inferior to real love. Red wine is best from the bottle, when the cork has been pulled cleanly and the label peeled away imperfectly. The lips run across the rough edges and picks out the metal taste. Then the tug follows, a full-throated glug rises from bottom through to top, and the happiness with it. White wine is for happier times when the vision is clearer, when the glasses are ready and it’s drunk as soon as the bottle’s opened. For its association with more light-hearted moments, it is the least favorite among reasonable people. The dizziness that comes is the alcohol, a contrast to the indifference in the moments before. The enthusiasm that was felt when things were new between you is so far gone, you wonder about its existence, but you’re sure it was fleeting. Lying on their sides, the corked bottles are pushed back into so many racks in kitchens and dining rooms, in walls between corridors, all gathering dust, symbolically, the happiness encapsulated in the bottle, as neatly captured and framed as the smiling faces in family photos.
