Dare I dust off the medallions of grapes,
Dare I defy the gravity of the vines?

Green spiral, coiling into leaf, tang of aching cluster,
Plump with pulp enskinned in thin yearning, to capture the tears of morning that bemoans the night.

Flesher red in hummingbird tongue-weaved coats, bloated with juices of our blending sexes, loosening into a thick thick scent.
Strings in emaciated stares from our infant star, nosh the twirling lustful fingers, strings of shine, in the slow river.

Dare I knee into its roots, elbowing through my laxity into the soil,
Dare I sip from the levity of the wines?

Give me a sliver of the hanging tissue, ripe with her sweat,
Unthread the eyelids holding her seed.
Treat me the curves of red and green,
Feed me greedless, seedless grape.