Wild-Berry (Day 20 of 100 -- poetry challenge)

You devoured me in that sacred
place with the circular stone altar,
silver and gold,
and you;
somehow berries are always sweetest when found in the wild
and eaten on the move,
purple-black,
ruby-red,
pussy-pink.

I want more flesh and desire!

Rolling minutes
like an empty bag in the wind
at night on an abandoned road,
searching through the wood for berries;
long kisses in a basement room as a guest,
walking away from moments that should never-end.

I want more of that pyre!

If death is midnight then where are we in these rolling hours,
memories of stolen kisses,
fallen days,
and
fading flowers.