A crystal glass; clearly perfect.
The stem; slender and sleek.
The base; sturdy yet fragile.
The body; blissfully curved.
The rim; Thin and delicate.
Your hand; trembling with passion
For the red juices awaiting your lips.
You pick the vessel up by the stem.
Your treacherous hand bringing it closer
Stirring the liquid close to your nostrils.
The sea of desire creates beads of envy
All along the interior of the glass.
It releases the aroma of autumn evening;
Sweet and dangerous, sultry yet refreshing.
You precariously tilt the glass to your lips.
Your mouth opens with a slit of uncertainty.
Pouring the sinful ablution down your pallet
Creates a rush of heated pleasure filling your body.
The two of you play a symphony of circles.
Sliding your finger around and around
The rim of the glass singing a love song.
Making music; making a story; making love.
You have met before
This wicked lover and you.
Like an old partner in crime;
Your old friend; broken and worn,
Used and chipped,
Yet still you keep coming back.
 
Copyright © wingnut, All Rights Reserved