Fingers Turned Red

Until our fingers turned red like the wine
like the heavy blanket of starry black cresting overhead to
crash like a wolf's howl ushering in the
long night
we let go the question of right
of wrong
gay with dark drink slipping from between our lips the merriment of song
she hovered over the sand
tall and long
smiling and smelling sweetly of sadness
of the strong scent of madness; that curse washed away
not long after surviving distaster
stir the night air with the spoon of your long neck and dance for
your master
until our fingers turned red like the wine
and we died like gangsters.

TA - 2016