My Glass Bottle

It restrains the dark cherry flavor.
The deep claret filters all conceivable light
And burns its color on the desk.
The desk, not knowing better,
becomes part of its hue,
And stoops before its tint authority.

The lamp asks why the bottle feels powerful,
It says, “I changed the color of this desk”

“Get your own light,” whispered the lamp

And the desk was freed.