Learning to Drink

The bottles lined up on my room's shelf
mark the endlessness of so many conversations.

Sometimes around friends and laughter.
Sometimes with a hand resting,
promising desire across the table.
Sometimes warmed only by my own breathing.

Why is it that that glass of house wine
consumed me like no other I've ever had?
A cheap glass in a fancy chinese restaurant.

But then the day changed,
the lights all too bright, promising
magic.

Across from you,
ages after my first glass,
you teach me to taste the wine.