When we finally stand, brushing leaves from your skin,
You look up at me, mouth swollen, eyes dark with the sin,
We step from the grove, not a word, both grinning wild,
Still tasting the night, still filthy, still half-feral and riled.
You look up at me, mouth swollen, eyes dark with the sin,
We step from the grove, not a word, both grinning wild,
Still tasting the night, still filthy, still half-feral and riled.