Last Night's Wine

My joy is supple most mornings,
determined and purified by sleep.

Is is almost soul osmosis
that filters the sweetness of quiet dozing
with mindless breath and transforms worries
into variegated nothingness.

If I had an audience,
and propriety prevailed,
I might dance,
even flaunt,

the love that lives in me.

Right there.
Stepping lightly
on the sticky kitchen floor
where last night's wine

evaporated.