Flask

Grab the bottle standing on the edge,
With shadows squirming inside,
Cage for what’s to come.

I’ll kiss your lips, black flavoured,
From midnight till amber dawn,
Waiting for the seed to grow.

She’ll shoot us and miss,
Mind blank with rage and chains,
Bliss through wine remains.

He’ll write books in alien languages,
Red ink on silver pages,
Moonlight reflected back to heart.

You’ll kneel on cold stones,
Dreaming hunters prey,
Dreaming what that one sip brought -
Burns, submission, pain and shame.

Guilty pleasure wets the floor,
Seconds pass – a desperate grasp,
Content gulped down,
Too late for choice.