Bacchus begone,
I will never taste a wine
As potent or as sweet as those soft, pink, dew-kissed lips.
There is no grape as round or luscious
As her dimpled, yielding globes,
And when she dances, I die
a sweet death, and beg with every breath
To have her in my mouth again,
To sip her honeyed juices,
As she writhes upon my tongue.
An experiment, inspired by the myths of Bacchus/Dionysus and Greco-Roman deities.