Glasses Filled With Wine

I always exaggerate both my loneliness and love, both my faithlessness and devotion. I'm ashamed by the swift breeze-like way I can turn on a dime, so enamored by your presence but so quick to change my mind. I need to confess, I insist, to a deity shrouded in mist for every gentle soul mishandled when I was in fear or out of control. But I assure you, my heart is not a thief as much as I have stolen from you; I didn't mean to cause you grief, or make you spend your time in unhappiness without relief. One Sunday, after dinner, I'll light candles in the incense room, hold your sweater still permeating your perfume, and become a new man incapable of violence. Find me sitting with friends with glasses filled with wine while someone has his daughter play the piano quietly at dusk, I swear, in that moment, I'll be someone you can trust.