Wine with Water

Once or twice, the wondrous

gush of her orgasm would be darker,

hotter, my probing penis having

hastened her flow, the

egg that got away smearing its

red yolk onto my groin, the sheets, her

rouging cheeks, as if I would mind her

fertility, her womanhood, as if I

wouldn’t drink a little

wine with her water and

be no worse for it.