A bottle,
cold in the fingers that curled
around the neck,
like a lover
waiting for a kiss,
the crimson poison dripping from its lips
in sweet temptation
of what never can be.
A sweet taste,
a sweet poison,
a sweet kiss,
killing the heart.
The venom exposing every weakness
tearing it apart,
Taking only what it can
before
life has fled its flesh.
The body
held close,
life against death
holding it sweetly,
waiting for the heart to stop beating.
