Red Wine
Kissing the Greek Goddess of misery. A short story.
There's a taste to red wine that's intimately sad. Heady, grounding, warm, but always sad. Even in these moments, red wine despondency infects, transfering from mouth unto mouth.
Oizys' kisses intoxicate me. Heady, grounding, warm, but sad. I discover this as she presses me to a desolate corinthian pillar; with philtrum stained mauve, the red wine effect is as true of Oizys' lips as the glasses that cradle the liquid.
And if Oizys' lips are wine, then damnit, I'm an alcoholic.
I can't shake the melancholy on her lips, though. Hesitantly, transiently, I nudge back. "Hey."
"Hmm?"
"...Are you okay?"
About the Creator
M. Edwards
Writing for the sake of writing. I love bizarrely niche essays, fiction and recently, poetry. Not a professional - yet.
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