My Wine
By Howard SERGIO Tucker

Curvaceous vessel, lays beside, elegantly, in the softness of night,
Waiting, to be filled, complete,
Waiting, a light touch, a slender neck,
Fullness of lips, eagerly presses,
An inhale, a desire, a pause,
A slow imbibe, releasing an earthy warmth,
Stay in that moment...my wine, my wine,

Slowly, stroking the curve of your lips,
Sings a song of crystalline high pitched dreams.

A fantasy, a beauty, a mystery,
Nestled in the layers of subtle tannins,
Lingering for a moment more, my wine my wine…
Left a love mark deep on my pallet,
Maybe a label, like tattoo on my mind,
Your symbol, ablaze, a single spot,
That damn spot, lest she knows,

Slowly, stroking the curve of your lips,
Sings a song of crystalline high pitched dreams. 

Sanguine, red, or sometimes with a blush, in our intimate pairings,
Enjoying the lusty, laughing, lightheadedness,
Expresses, silliness, yet your perfume,
Your complex bouquet lingers on the silhouette of my soul,
Your taste, finely cherished, as is breath, as is life,

My wine…my wine.