She pours the wine, slowly. The deep, dark, viscous
liquid splashes up the opposite side of the glass
and rolls back to flow forward in a gentle
rocking motion until it’s finally still.
She picks up the glass with her delicate hand, nails
painted ruby red and swirls the Syrah to coat the
glass with a purple sheen of wetness and slowly
brings it to her lips and tastes the exquisite wine.
The candle flickers and she remembers the words he used,
the way he explained how he couldn’t see her any more.
She brings her hand back and forcefully smashes the glass
against the table, rises from her chair and walks to the door.