With his sly hands he wished to kill her now.
Snatch away every single sign of breath she could linger upon
and surface the coughs of death over her.
She made him weak with no regrets.
Kept drowning him deeper and deeper to ensure
he forgets the soothing taste of his loving wife on his helpless tongue.
But it was enough now. Ashamed of himself, he swore
he would never touch a glass, a bottle, anything filled with this lustful liquor.
He dropped her – the bottle smashed in front of his feet,
the liquor slowly flowing like blood
between the shattered sharp-edged pieces of the bottle.
(The Stories beneath the eyes.)