Compote

Hidden behind a panelled door; laughter ready to betray me in this semi-lit world, I think about the photograph on the shelf, a souvenir for you. More secrets, sorry can’t say. Not now as my mouth is flooded with unrestrained, dark elixir; tongue tip pushes between satisfying space inside soft, sweet flesh through liquescent, luscious purple-black pool. Spoon syrup heavy with promise, dripping truth to my lips.