Work Text:
Bones and silver dishes, cloying wine and
pomegranates, sit in the darkness behind curtains.
Biting into overripe fruit stolen from the garden,
the spoils of a loveless conquest, he relishes the
ichor of lust.
Upon her neck, silken ivory within rosy innocence,
rubies bloom and petals fall in passionate agony.
In the moonlight, twisted in crimson and
midnight blue, enveloped in gold and emerald,
they writhe in silence.
Masked in romance, painted in a stagnant still life,
his is an appetite that cannot be sated.
One day, the taste will no longer tantalize, the
season will be complete.
She will be discarded beyond the garden,
devoured by rot and tragedy in the autumn orchard, awaiting the creeping frost.