Decapitated Vines

I used to do this thing
where I'd save the corks
from wine bottles shared
with my beloved
of the month
and spread them out
on a shelf that houses
Catholic patron saints
burning above my bed springs.

The price of genius is sanity
but He called my wooden nickel.
I cheated on my lovers
with my writing.
Fire has no loyalty.
I purged and built again.
The corks were swept methodically
into an open trash can
and a new collection started
within the week
or less.

I used to do this thing
where I'd drink with other people.
Their voices became grating.
They took up too much space.

It's me and wine and cigarettes
and wedding season's over.