salt and alcohol on the tablecloth

the stars were sprinkled across the dark evening sky when i had poured wine from my eyes and inebriated myself on the intoxicating liquor 

 

your hands are pure artistry, delicate, and, venetian; your glassy fingers leaving traces of icy condensation trails across my sweltering skin. 

 

those intricate tessellations emblazoned on were a reminder of my sobriety and a haven to spill myself into. the red liquid dripped from my tear ducts onto your translucent nails, staining them crimson when you caress my cheeks and wipe it away.

 

you were fresh like grapes. addicting and effervescent was your sadness, your needs, wants, and adoration.

 

i simply was the product of the fruits that were drained, fermented, and aged for another’s satisfaction.

 

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