Drinking Wine on a Thursday Night

I chase
my birth
control pill
down with a bottle
of wine.

It sticks
to my tongue,
stays as a lump
in the throat.

It's not even the right day.
I want to be close to someone.

Glass feels different from skin
distinctly in hardness.
But my hand holds
the bottle as if the bottle
were flesh
and if the liquid were emotional closeness
with it.

It's not even the right day.
I want to be somewhere else.