Obstinate

Sleeping I suit myself to the body of my now called lover.
My chin between his shoulder blades

During the day I remain obstinate.
Notch my forehead into a groovy web when he asks me something.
My words rising in the corners of his eye.
I push the evening away like a bad novel.

I divide that what is from the wine and what is from me,
pour gradually less of me into the glass.
Slowly I diminish into a furious stained ring on the tabletop.