“The higher the grapes, the bitter they are”-
she goes by the old age adage, satisfying herself
by imprinting her nature Pisces, pieced onto walls
of her mind’s eye, snickering through jaws shut
in a bearing where senility finds her, and she finds
me peculiarly reaching for the grapes, to be bitter
by the syrupiness of her cavalry, my adrenal state,
obtain the key, before she can spot and seize me
.
Image Artist: Nikita Veprikov