Warm Grapes

We left the grapes in a warm room overnight
And when you ate them the next morning, your mouth was
Stained purple, 
Your fingers - sticky
The grapes like blood or wine or death or sin or
Blackcurrant juice
Coated your skin. 
You were a child, a naughty child caught
Indulging
In sweet treats, and desperately trying
To wash away the evidence.
To wash away the sin. 
To wash us both
Clean. 
Clean.
Clean.
Alas. The wine remained, resting there
On your lips, it wouldn't go, you couldn't get it off - 
You couldn't
Get it
Off.
There were white towels everywhere, covered in it, 
But your lips, your lips were still purple, and
What else could I do?
What else could I have done?
Looking back, it all seems so
Inevitable. 
But right then, 
In that moment, 
Your lips tasted so damn good.