The Sensual Dimensions of Red Wine

Red, red, red wine, I taste your body in my mouth. The silken softness on my tongue, and those crushed berries filled with flavour. I sit with glass in hand and reconnoitre the sensual dimensions of red wine. At the end of my working day I come back to myself with the aid of this taste sensation. I mull over memories, and murmur about aroma. I sip at the blood of my saviour. I anoint my tongue in the fermented juice of soil, oak and fruit. The days become a daze; and I hear the beating of my heart.

The Sensual Dimensions of Red Wine

Good red wine is like no other wine. I cradle that glass bowl in my hand. I ponder on the magic of time and technique. There is passion and process in the making of this elixir. I think about the last deep and moving experience in my life. The last helping of love. I am inclined to remember, reclined to review. Inside I am jam, sweet, and honey too. The gelling with another, lips touching, levity and longing mixed up with one another. Red wine stimulates sensory recollection and love’s echo sounds deep inside my heart.

I tell a lie. It is just a glass half full. The promise of future expectations drain like the last few sips of something slightly bitter. Like the allure of sweet smooth phone sex on your tongue, full of undeliverable delights. Like the whisper of first love, deep in your dreams on a sleepless night. Red wine begins something it cannot finish alone. In the drinking you reach a point of negative returns. A drop-off zone that stains your tongue blackly red. That leaves you with nothing but a dry mouth, no longer a mouth full of the memories of love.

Wine is a processual performer; and you need to know when the party is truly over. The sensual dimensions of red wine delight, deepen and then, determine your short, and sometimes, long term future. Keep a lid on it Sunshine. Quaffing leads to a permanent red nose day. The next morning you sound like a muffled sufferer of the flu. Jeffrey Bernard is unwell. Machiavellian machinations undo the simple pleasure of being alive. Dehydration and a swollen liver ringbark the resurrection. Until next time, that is, of course, when the blood-like brew once more winks at you and the spell is pronounced out loud again. Red, red, red wine.