I first kissed her when the moon was red, her lips tasted of vintage 1997 Ornellaia, Which burned my throat traveling down, I closed my eyes to let the sweetness savor And when she pressed me to her heart The stars hit the ends of my nerves
She took out guitar stings to light each strand Then smoked amethyst clouds into the blue night sky. When she spoke, each syllable was cold and I kissed her again to taste the Warm red wine.
In the morning her kiss became a sin. She tasted like suitcases and train tickets. I had to close my eyes to not watch her go And when I opened them she had already gone.