Modern Love Poems: Red Wine by Shrutee Choudhary

Modern Love Poems Red Wine

[Note from Frolic: We are so excited to announce our new series of modern love poetry from the top poets on Instagram. Next up is part 2 of a collection from @shruteechoudhary. Read part one here.]


You spilled some red wine when we met. and when you were busy picking up the shards

of your broken glass, that red wine left a bit of a stain

on your tile. It even spilled

into the next morning, I knew the clouds were odd coloured, on my way back home

after having spent the night at yours.

some of it was on the shirt I’d been wearing, some dripped on my arm.

the stain was your skin, cold, then suddenly warm after having touched me.

I have felt warm for days

in the inches around my waist, on my lip, on my nape.

you have cleaned your tile, the weather itself has changed. clouds are white again.

but I’ve been avoiding doing laundry. my shirt still holds the stain. that’s how I’m near you.


I love you

In the intervals between our phone calls,

In the lost minutes of two timezones.

I love you

In the silences that come with breathing,

because my love is grand, enormous,

too much — to carry all the way from my heart, upward, to lay it on my lips,

and then to enunciate.

So I let it sit inside my chest, I let it grow rapidly and like high tides, sometimes

the waves come gushing out of my eyes. The word spells like tears but its definition is love.

I love you

In the way I exist, just as,

inexplicably there.


f i V e

I opened my eyes

and in five heartbeats

worth of time

you told me

I was no more your muse.

it took me five minutes

to understand

that our clustered yesterdays

would be torn apart

ruthlessly now, in a haste

for you to leave

on a plane

to a multi-verse

that I don’t exist in.

“I’m sorry about this”

you said

with your eyes


entry denied

and I sat on the sheet

we made love upon

night after night

with a broken heart


and five empty words

scattered like a

jigsaw puzzle

with missing pieces.

I didn’t cry

there wasn’t going to be

enough tears

to mourn after


the five years

we spent

drawn upon each other

with stencils

in permanent marker.

now my days are darker

than your tousled black hair

inviting new fingers

to ruffle through it.


It’s been five months

since you left

and I’m still

peeling off the glue

that kept us together.

last night

when a thunderstorm

woke me up

I was terrified

that it was you

and it took me


five seconds to realise

you were never here to last

just like the bad weather.


it rarely happens

that a person is so

spellbound by something

that words escape

like the soul wanders off

to some place each night

to make one dream

and all they are left with

is silence


so if I could dip

my tongue like quill

into your skin

I wouldn’t sink

but float seamlessly

to far ends of your body

for I am a writer

and I’m weightless

without words

and that’s how you leave me.


your earthy eyes

hold all wilderness

and in the dark

they are what overlook

the ocean

and with them you gaze

at my eyes and tell me

you see the moon in them

I smile with sweet realisation

that without you

there is no me

you hold me in your sky

keeping me close

but not too close

my frail strings loosely

wrapped around your finger

as if you could let go

at any moment

yet you choose not to

this overwhelming thrill

sends chills down my spine

they trickle all the way down

into your deep waters

and make tides rise

and I fear for my sanity

at times

but that’s how we meet

and I wouldn’t change

a thing.


We were paper boats in a puddle

so delicate, a brisk breeze away

from spinning in separate directions.

so transitory, a season away

from being thrown into a purposeless corner

where all forgotten things go.

yet, we tumbled together in motion

round and round we went

orbiting around what we thought was love

amused and innocent

awaiting storms so we could last

in the little world that was overcast

and when the sun came

we had nowhere to be

now I wait for another rainstorm

to bring you back to me.

About the Author:

When I’m not busy being a goofball, I like to complicate my life for a living, so I can try and uncomplicate it with words. 

I like to travel and make pictures. I’m also an actor, so I’m really all about the stories. 

In poetic terms, 

I’m the wormhole between reality and fiction

I’m the rhyme and the contradiction. 


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