unquenchable thirst

 
in the basin languishes
the pulp and tendrils
of a potent sangria
made with naked giggles
too much wine, not enough fruit
drank from an old chipped cup
poured over breasts
consumed by women adept
at the pleasure of women
loath to uncouple
dusk skewing shadow and light
their disembodied satisfaction
slowly unraveled an
unquenchable thirst
and in the gloaming once more
deeply they drank
.
.
.
.
written for Poefusion Friday 5
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