There, pinch-perfect--
shadow-wrested beak
of fingertips, secure a soured
grape, first of a series.
Thrown in a perfect arch...
purple with majesty, slower
than motion, upon that coven's
cut, colored: Bubonic Brown,
Liche Purple, Catachan Green,
Scab Red, Red Gore, Blood Red--
in fine rot...heart.
Stiller than life upon shellaced wood
floor, begging the perspective
press of grapes underfoot.
Let blood drink.