Confession of A Don Juan: The Wine Taster

In contrast I’ve tasted the flavors of greener vines of past

In the form of various wines without a glass

And yea though it was the sweet, supple taste of an ageless one from the valley that lingered on my lips

After sampling those of her own, soon after I just couldn’t resist

Like windswept leaves swaying across an open field

She would tingle at whim, as my hands slid down her limbs, as it preceded to spill

White Zinfandel is her name…blushing, and yet tempting beyond the desires of the finest confections

So easily she is becoming an undeniable addiction 

Oh, I’m sorry. Excuse me while I bring this vessel ashore

Three sheets to the wind, my friend. I’m off to make my cougar roar …