Wine burns your lips. If you only kiss it, without really trying to sip it, it will burn into your precious pink lips. So, you must sip it. You must consume it whole, and feel the toxic residue lingering in your mouth, etched into your breath.
Funny thing, this wine. It will tempt you as it glistens inside the glass. You watch it, and you watch yourself make a fool out of yourself in front of it. Twisting, turning, bending and adjusting. You try to resist but your eyes are hooked already. This wine looks delicious, forget that it will burn your lips, forget the toxic aftertaste.
Think of the pleasures of it all- this wine and you. Tipsy, making poetry together in not so hidden dark corners, in unexpected places. Each sip making you crazy, making your seemingly solid brain a mush. You don’t know anything anymore. At this moment you only know this wine and it’s glorious bottle- it’s warmth, it’s tight embrace.
For so long you denied yourself this wine, and today it stands in front of you- a nice, tall drink. How can you say no? How can you push away what your heart screams and grabs hold of every waking minute?
Wine with it’s big round eyes and long thin fingers that know exactly how to hold you. Wine with it’s many, many problems and awkward questions. Wine making your throat burn with each sip, and your heart burn with each resistance to sip.
Wine- the comfort that burns and tempts but doesn’t really care about you. Wine- the hurt that soothes and deflects but will always manage to make you think it loves you.
Thank God for these damn masks.
FreeRovingBovine 