Raspberries and Thank yous

Epileptic

I hold my wine, index and ring curled inside the stem.
When my eyes drift down,
I can see them,
two shining pennies.

He tells me the years,
one for her birth, one for her death.

He laughs, clear and sharp and dizzy.
My wine-filled head overflows,
and my thoughts rush out onto the carpet.
Like blood in a crime show,
or tension in a soap opera.

His penny loafers are ruined,
drenched in my past,
and soggy with well-oiled memories.

Rust-ridden thoughts scratch against his silk socks,
and I drop the wine.

The glass shatters,
and I see myself
on the floor.

~Hammeh