The wine leaves a crimson stain on her lips. The "boom" causes her fingers to tremble when she passes me the bottle. "The lion is roaring", I say. I fell the wine's swish in my throat when I swallow.
"The shepherds have left the field.", she says.
"There was no more grain."
"No. None outside of the palace."
She takes back the bottle. "My uncle was a shepherd, but he's been staying with us ever since they ravaged the countryside." She takes a sip.
"I hear they burned all the grass." It is only as the words leave my lips, that I realize how worrying they must be.
She wipes her lips with the back of her hand. I want to kiss the crimson stain spreading to her fingers.
"A lion's roar is like a kiss. It can not be put back into his mouth."
She laughs. Our eyes meet. Another rocket sounds.
I kiss her as the city walls come tumbling down upon us; her lips are mightier than the foundations of the temple, her tongue sweeter than the wine spilling out from the half-empty bottle that lies beside my feet.
It took Nebuchadnezzar thirty months and five armies to scale the heights of the temple; it took me one hour and two pairs of thighs.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment