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Confession of A Don Juan: The Wine Taster

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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 …


 

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