But I Will (If You Do)

Sun dips through where it can in glasses
Of rosé on the counter. Our hands twist
Each ounce through retrospective doubts —
And our nerves sidle in and out of bubbles
On the surface. Where they pop under our
Noses, we find tickling opportunities for laughter,
But miss them because you don’t drink and
I don’t drink rosé. If this were champagne,

We encountered golden rays as they
Danced and twined through currents and waves
Driven by the globes of our eyes searching
For details found in wood grains, dusty window
Panes, and endless excuses to abstain.
Where the bubbles bounced against the backs
Of our throats, we heard devout whisperings
And reasons for lingering. If we do,

Our stools grew weary as our legs that fell
Asleep against wood veins while bottles got flat
At other tables. Heavy with obligation, our hearts
Weighed out against seats that also wanted us to
Leave. While streetlights sauntered through
Empty glasses, throats grew raspy as the laughter
And begged for suspended relief from unspoken
Disbelief and forced ease.

Stay gold,
Sabrina