By Sam Yau
I’ve been the person
who’d fall for
the first one
who came along.
This time,
I’d change.
I would
look,
swirl,
sniff,
sip
and savor
the exquisitely curated
rich varietals
in the perfect
sequence.
But I can no longer
delude myself;
can’t hide behind
an idyllic new life
you’re not the
center of—
my fear of
being trapped
in a single taste.
This morning,
I woke up engulfed
in the pain of the
looming separation.
How I would
pine for you
when the iron bird
fades into the cloud,
How I would
run away
in clever ways,
only to find
your face swirling
in my heart.
Once more,
I tore the
tasting menu
to pieces.
There is only one.