“I don’t know much about wine to be honest, but what I do know is that women love Moscato.” – Q, from When it Comes to Breaking
Here let me pour you a glass – Heavens your day looks drawn; And I mean out, not sketched. Should we take a few minutes to let this breathe? Do not rush so headlong; Darling this is quality. – And like any masterwork of art, it takes time for the senses to know what they are dancing with. And dancing on the palette is a complexity a mile wide.
What style do you prefer? Let me put a semicolon between you bent over; And me at the backdoor to meet you.
It’s raw; I’m raw the way I intend to touch you. No filter is how I want the dirty water material world.
You don’t really know how to taste correctly do you? There’s more than just putting it in your mouth. Levels exist to all this, and you’ve got to take the time to get acquainted on each one. Take it in. On the nose, the nose first, and not just how you breathe all day; That’s not depth, not deep at all. Take it in to your inner sanctuary, and let it cake on the walls. Now press it out! Dash and swirl it – Air serves it like a symphonic chamber; The guard is down and the ceilings are open! Now press your nose deep. There is much to find towards the bottom. Is it heavy ? Let it go. Return to the horizon, but keep your distance for this one, yes, hear the whispers from down in the volcanic crater. Are you ready for a splash? Just the tip first, a bit of a bite, an intense concentration of jolts to the buds. This is where you find what your tongue desires, at the gate. Forward we will pass this keeper, and deliver nectar to the body! You deserve a limber afternoon. We could take more insanity, but I’d rather discover all that out in the wild. The howl is our cue, throw your head back and let’s dance like it were a full moon! Feel the life bursting with vigor in this juice – It’s everything a tongue could need, and more.
Be careful, a good dance might find you on the floor
A good dance will have you squirming for a drop more
Wine hits the tongue like waves on the shore,
Some crash harder than others when they strike our senses.
It was a very gorgeous taste; As if the wine had been cultivated to sit comfortably in the crevices around the buds – To give you that smooth warmth; Trained to sweetly kiss your palette after the right amount of milliseconds passed, and then jolt you back with a bite before dissolving with your enzymes. That’s not where you let it settle into you though. It was the way it paired with her laugh, her electric cool. Together they sat with you like the question, “How long can you hold a flavor on the tongue before you must have it again?” When the bottle was empty, seconds ticked by and no matter how resolved of an attempt of will to remain, regardless of all the repose in the world, it faded to dust – It’s like the feeling you get when the Sun comes up and you don’t quite recall falling to sleep or even going home – Not that it disturbs you, but you can’t help but feel a tad haunted by the whole experience.
Storms stir and calm, often reshaping the entire face of a coastline.
I like the way you dance between the two subjects effortlessly.
I had found another bottle years later; Or maybe I had saved one if ever there was an occasion; Whatever the case, I never got another drop. That evening I had been carrying it with me in my overnight – A few other drinks loosed my focus – When I dropped my duffel I heard it shatter. In disbelief, I reached in and ended up pulling out a few cuts. Seeing it all soaked into my favorite clothes, I laughed and thought it appropriate that at least something close to me got to get intimate with that beauty once more. I could have rushed to take one last sip from the jagged remnants of the bottle. I could have wrung some out of a sweater, surely enough to stretch myself across those memories one last time. I didn’t. I poured myself something harsher, maybe one of those small batch whiskey’s I once liked. I reasoned it better to keep in line with reality than chase ghosts. Time kept running so I had another. In my head I drifted across the water. So this is why they call it spirits.
To really taste something is to take a profound dive into your own fire