half wise

When there is nothing but life in a cartoon pedigree,
where you are defined by a tree, in a scent, in a leaf.
there
you may find yourself, lifting a bottle, and glancing half wise to your left...
at the object of your love, at that miserable thing called love
and you might realize, that the cap is still on the bottle

but not until your lips touch it
not a second before you lips touch it

and you might feel like you once had a gift, but it was lost to your age, or maybe your wisdom
when you were less wise, it seemed greater, and now more wise, it seems smaller, and less significant, and you may find yourself, glancing half wise at that thing and wishing it were greater.

but not until your lips touch it.