She has nothing better to do.
She sips once, twice, does not stop. A
drift of bubbles clusters at the
rim, slides to the bottom of the
flute. She hears a burst of peach and
lemon: ‘It’s not that I’m ashamed
of you.’ She waits for the words to
trail. Another sip. Undertones
of spring flowers. Notes of pear and
melon. ‘It’s just that maybe my
standards are higher.’ This feels crisp
and clean with nice acidity
and a refreshing dry finish.
It’s the complicated ones that
always interest her. She should stop
now before she gets used to it.
No comments:
Post a Comment