Cherry wine.

one.

She pressed her lips against my bare bruised back. her hands were warm, or rather, hot and sporadic. Much like her mind. She gave me everything because she was mine and I was hers.
Sometimes her everything includes her anger, but I know that her laced venom can taste like strawberries and when she bites they feel like gentle kisses. I'm used to this dynamic but my mother watches over me with consistent worry. She doesn't see what I see when my love smiles, she only sees teeth and torn skin. Amongst all the others she tells me that she loves me the most, that there is no one else for me. She's shown me how to give and what wonderful things happen when we are together. I embrace her despite knowing that our love will burn out just as all good things do.

I ask her questions and she gets mad, so I'm quiet most of the time. I don't want to see her leave out the front door again. But sometimes I can smell the scent of another on her neck, on her clothes, on her lips but I still bite my tongue because she loves me and only me.