Wineglass

A slender bottle, a slender glass
Her slender hand reached out
Grasped the corkscrew
And with a cleverly hidden savagery
Stabbed the cork
Wrenched it from the bottle
She set the cork and screw now joined
Aside on the small folded cloth
Set aside for this purpose
She was finally alone
The tiring day was nearing its end
She started to raise the bottle
The door opened
She looked up
"Ms. Destine?"
She glared at the visitor a moment
Then regained her composure
"No interruptions, Richard.
"I told you that."
"As you wish."
He left her alone again
With only her thoughts
She locked the door
Ensuring she would not again be disturbed
Then again rose the bottle
Rose the antique glass
And poured the wine slowly
She felt as old as the glass
But often as elegant
The only one of its kind, to her knowledge
Alone, much like herself
She set the bottle aside
Then settled into the chair
Twisting the glass delicately
Sipping the contents slowly
Elegantly
Turning the glass
So the carved stem caught the firelight
And reflected back into her eyes
Which seemed to burn with an inner fire
Neither spurred nor tempered by the wine
But relaxed by the act
Of turning the glass
She allowed the act to calm her
The room echoing
The serenity of
Glass, Fire, Woman
All awaiting the coming night