intoxicating, sweet, bitter.

Ow. Very nice. That last made me have to catch my breath.

Yes, it might be stronger without the cliche. Something tactile again, hinting at the rawness? Sorry I don't have a more useful suggestion.

Thank you for brainstorming with me!

I really want that word "naked"...

Maybe..

I am raw remembering it,
shivering without my skin;
naked and exposed.

-ETA: or I could bring in the "you" from the last stanza...

"naked to his touch"

or something???

Works for me.

"naked in his grip"

Maybe "naked against his touch"? Grip seems a little strong, considering that we'd end up with smushed grapes. (Naked against his stomping feet. Okay, Ginger, it's time to shut up.)

Hee! Ginger, no don't stop. You're helping! Actually, I already had gone back and edited that word in that post because I agreed with you. I had suggested "naked to his touch" and then cringed--overdone--

but JohnSweden just suggested "naked to that touch", which I really like and conveys exactly what I wanted to convey--a sense of being made this vulnerable only by that one person.

So...final draft:

Grapes

I am trapped by a memory—
hands slipping across my body,
peeling off resistance
like the fragile skin of fruit.

I am raw remembering it,
shivering without my skin;
naked to that touch.

Old grapes grow to wine.
Your memory is like that;
intoxicating, sweet, bitter.

Yay. Thank you! I have literally been working on various incarnations of this poem for years, and I finally feel like it is done.

I'm going to selfishly post a bit of catharsis that I just wrote. I don't really care if it's crap, it felt good. Heh.

She knew she shouldn't be lying there late at night, still sweaty from other things she shouldn't have done. But it all felt so familiar. Two days ago, being next to him, breathing together, sleeping together all seemed so simple, and suddenly they were forbidden. He mumbled, sleep coming quickly over him, and put his hand on her leg, just like always.

She began to drift off, and forced herself to think rationally. Falling asleep there next to him would be a total loss of control. 1:37 am. Shit. She began to rise from the bed, exhausted. "Stay," he said, only partially conscious. "Just stay here."

For what seemed like the hundredth time, she reached for her clothes. It was the right thing.

She kissed his neck, and breathed "I love you" directly into his ear, knowing unfortunately that it was true. She picked up her things, she looked over everything; the room, the bed, him. She shut the door slowly, realizing it could be the last time she would ever be there. The air outside was suprisingly warm. A night this empty should be cold. She shivered anyway, and anxiously began the long walk out into the dark.

Oh, Sassy, not crap at all.

Powerful, and very real.

{{{Sassy}}}

Certainly not crap. Should we spend some time inventing horrible fictional torments for him?

Lordy. You people are writing some powerful stuff.