I Am A Cabernet Sauvignon

I’m just sitting here, letting the wine flow through my brain like a bubbling river of songs that’s mapped out by an old and seasoned cartographer; one that cares enough about detail to know that I am not Merlot.

I am a Cabernet Sauvignon, soft and tender, ending with a note of chocolate or of espresso. I find a sweetness and bitterness to the world around me that is only mirrored when I meet others of my same grape.

It’s a swinging and swimming sensation,
not much different from the loud beating in my head that is typical;
it’s only seperate from that in the way that wet hair is seperate from dry hair: it’s a bit deadened not as lively.

It’s a swinging and swimming sensation and I let it encompass my spine, driving forward the urge to conduct,
as if it were a symphony,
the sounds of the world around:
the whir of the fan
the soft clicks of shoes to concrete echoing up from outside,
the rushing of water through a shower head,
the creaks and groans of the pipes.

I’m conducting them all,
they are a symphonic medley
a taste of my world in an audio medium
and I am showcasing each of them as they come up.


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