by Marie Cloutier
I wanted red, I
wanted wine, sangria, red
prosciutto, raw strips.
I wanted meat; I
wanted more, I wanted it
all, the flaming plate.
Flaming goblet, and
more, always more, just red, more
red, no regrets, just red.
***
Marie Cloutier grew up in New England and now lives outside NYC where she writes poetry and creative nonfiction. She is working on a memoir and is an avid quilter and beginner piano student.
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