We flee, too thirsty, because, like birds, we both want to go home.
My hands are firm in his as we run through the reddish earth, our mouths united like drunks seeking their vice. I don't even look where we're going, we just head towards the vineyards with their vast foliage.
We deepen our incursion, until his hand leans me against one of the woods that support the branches, hiding us from everyone. The trunk scratches the skin of my back, but Lorenzo forces me even more abruptly against the wood, while his fingers grab a succulent bunch from a basket near us and crush it. His hand becomes stained and flavorful, when with it the strap of my dress is lowered, my exposed breast groped and the skin around it acquires that tone.
Lorenzo's mouth tastes of its flavor, while he offers me the s
