Ashley Trefero

Taste

Masochists marry our blood with their wine

A celebratory punctuation to the end of days

The terror aligns my crooked design.

My mouth floods with vinegar and turpentine

Colors so rich they belong in Monet

Masochists marry our blood with their wine.

Near the needle of the fire they dine,

Cordially subjective as Aristotle plays,

The terror aligns my crooked design.

I retire to the corner of my thoughts and confine

Like sweet syrup cabernets

While masochists marry our blood with their wine.

Heeding commemorative offerings, I decline,

Slowly, as the hand raises

The terror that aligns my crooked design.

Following the syntax of their words and mine

Emphatic terrestrial bouquets

Masochists marry our blood with their wine

The terror aligns my crooked design.