The vodka bottle sits open on her dresser
half empty,
half dead.
The setting sun reflects off the smooth glass,
creating a prism of rainbow light.
It could almost be beautiful,

almost be perfect, if you don't stare too hard,

don't get too close.
No one would ever know
that the stale smell of liquor was always so thick
it seemed to seep through the paint in the walls.
No one would ever know that empty bottles
happened often around here,
as if they grew from the weeds in the yard.
And no one would ever know
how often her lips kissed those bottles
in a romance all their own.