Listen to the horses,
drunk on your vineyard's wine:
Kiss the grapes,
before you kiss me -
your lips taste like sweat and toothpaste,
minty, like the tea you made me,
on a night when I loved you too much
to care that your lips tasted like toothpaste.
On a night when the horses were sober,
and the grapes were still on the vine,
I listened to your words that tasted like kisses,
and forgot to brush my teeth,
before falling asleep to the horses' whine.
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