The stain will not come out.
Perhaps I have not tried enough
or really cared to change it.
A single drop of red wine;
another anniversary.
Sipping from a glass of silver
in a slimming black dress, napkin
folded in lap
But my mind is far from
manners that are proper and mature
For we are spending our time laughing
and I'm dripping my wine,
unnoticed.
The eyes could kiss from across
any table, and my coat could
take in more wine.
Before me is a sight I will hold,
those eyes, your warmth; red wine on my coat.
Now all that is left is that stain,
in the fabric, that I just cannot get out.
The first line was a prompt in my class; I can't change it.
