I never understood
how you could cork it
set it on the shelf
and save it to be savored at a later date.
“Maturing with age,” you said.
“Better with time,” you said.
No expiration,
simply a harvest year
when all the good was plucked,
& strained
reassuring me this process ensured a culmination of all our best flavors.
& all i can do is wait
on reserve
reminiscing on the sweet summer
my only saving grace infused with all those tangible memories
kept safe within those thick tinted walls.
How i wish i could taste it again
because the only palpable flavor i have left is bitterness
caused by you insisting,
“Maybe later, the timing just isn’t right.”