You breathe her in —
deeply, eyes closed.
Her scent envelops you,
the bouquet intoxicating.
She is tempting,
parting your lips,
rolling over your tongue,
activating every taste bud.
Taste her sweetness —
the ambrosia —
on the tip of your tongue,
feeling so close to ecstasy.
Her nip of sour,
just the slight bite,
entwined, complementing:
She possesses the perfect depth.
Her tannins bite
as you swallow,
the subtle hint of bitterness
tempered with experience.
Her siren call
seduces you.
You beg gluttonously,
lost in her ever-flawless body.
She is rare —
and forever gone.
Her absence stings keenly;
to have drunk what should be savored.
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