The Sweet Taste of Wine

The nights were short when we made love

a stream of beautiful thrusts and desperate parries, long deep kisses that left urgent burns on my lips  and so hungry

always wanting more of those endless moments when your skin was all there was

I could have taken you into me forever, never the urge for anything else.  Not the end of my master’s degree, not my friends, not anything else you were so filling …

like a perfect sky of shape-shifting clouds.   Like steak.   Like the smoothest red wine washing my lips, staining my tongue, sliding down my throat.

Like every beautiful thing, we passed like cut flowers, and I thought about hating you

like some people hate tequila

For whole weekends of lovemaking,  heady orgasms on the floor of your boat, nights filled with the smell of sex and aching muscles.

What else could I ever want?  And why take it away from me?

When you were gone a universe of people crowded around and I saw and felt them –

Others in love but never the freedom, never the cool, free bliss of making love under the trees for hours

never the same salty blow jobs, never the same frenzy of devouring you and endless earth shaking release

never the same claiming of each other.  no, not like that.

I thought about hating you for making it impossible

to marry for money, for prestige, for anything other than something real.  Something real …

But reality is so elusive.

Wine feels so good on your tongue, so full in your throat and then it’s gone and you’re hung over.

Is there anything you can do for me?

Is there any wine left or did we drink it all?

Probably we drank it all- I hope we did.

It’s hard to imagine I left anything in my glass.