Cork Taint

I miss you

when the wine 

sinks in

to my hollows

and swishes around

the sighing distance

between when

we were one

and then not

The longing leaves

rooted truffles

cellar corners

and sodden newspaper

in my mouth

But I don’t swallow

Knowing it had gone bad

Instead I pour

the black mold flecked regret

down the drain