"And his lips
his lips were wine
- scarlet madness.
And I wanted ‘em
wanted their bite
- gentle, strangled agony.
But it was only then
- his smile faded in mine -
I knew that wasn’t wine
- that it was blood -
and the taste
the taste was mine."
 

      —

Bacchanalian scent // Dionysus’ goodnight tales // l.e. wildë

(viametvmorqhoses)