euananthony

Flesh sucking flesh. Blueberry bruises upon golden skin. Look how these corpulent bodies hang from the vines. Just one taste. . .

The scent of nectarine lingers with each kiss. Juice splatters. Dionysus, what have you done? Your raspberry red lips leave stains of madness on my face. I cannot stop. 

Aftermath. We slip from sheets like snakes shedding their skin. Who are we now? Not a word. The Cult of Dionysus knows. You belong to him now.