a thousand wines project


Perfume, peachy oil, playful perambulation– tropical and swift but staying and swaying, wooing and resonant. She dances around to be chased and you do without resistance or explanation demand… smitten by Polynesian luminosity and white rose petal tussle. Once more ambience is let it, more is propelled and with bewitching exponent. Wines comme ça have a writer writing, in his chair refusing to move, just skipping and singing, music atop music– those tracks that last 15 or more minutes. There is no finish to a sip, with the peach, apricot and melon rouse perpetuating in its iambic coax. Then the meter switches, morphs and re-molds and composed to a wild free-verse vortex. Alcohol less visible and intrusive with swirls and time, breaths and admiration of the unique tint in glass… not that ABV was ever compromising to varietal or principle expression. Notes and chords, tones zooming back and forth then back for more song. A sent Spanish and Portuguese Philosophy, to and for me, my page. Kiss blown, sent, written, tasted. She, my flirtatious soliloquy…

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