Poetry · Writing

Bottled Up

Closed and forbidden-

time chased from six to three

I can’t tell you what is going on

hidden under the cork

and flying for the rafts.

Bottled up and hidden on the shelf

fine wine going to waste

descending into cellar waiting for the year.

If I’m a genie

and it’s your final wish

I’ll be gone.

Gone long enough to remember a scent

scent of passing time

and the clock on three.

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