My Head Hurt

My memory failed me
as I stood up, I fell
not being able to keep
my balance,

Around my feet
were empty bottles of
Pinot Noir
their gaping mouths
not being able to speak

I dared not
look behind me
on the bed, of which
I now sat

A funny feeling
came over me, as if
I had been here before
at least in her imagination
of all places,

“Are you coming back to bed?”
a voice beckoned, with an idea of French in it,
my mind tried to remember, where
I had heard it before
or if, I should feign amnesia