
I wanted to nip the grapes
directly from their trailing mother
and crush them
into watery liquid
between my bruised incisors.
I liked to devour them
straight from the vine
when they were still filled
with virgin blood.
But they lived
on borrowed time,
stealing life from the caregiver,
who needed to drop her children
one by one
or they would kill her
like lowly parasites.
So I turned them into libations
and let myself drink
their sordid lies.


knew it!



No emoticons make me sound so...BLAH.
). I really like how you're taking a step back from your usual story-poetry and getting more into the metaphors.






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