in the middle of the woods

where you invite me to ride

resides the still dripping

with your magic brew,

potion born of fruits

lying in darkest shadows

growing from aged vines,

roots deep in historical seed,

planted firmly with strong hands,

unseen by univited eyes  -

by invitation only have they been

picked, peeled and eaten.

into your private space

where you hide i come

to you at your request

to take a sip of something

you've prepared just for us.

no other lips have touched

this melody of nature's chemistry,

fermentating over decades

waiting for this moment

when in secret you pull the plug,

uncork sensuous harmonies

floating over the tongue and

dancing over lips glistening

with bacchanal sin.

the cup runneth over and over

again and again,

pulsing towards the air

and folding into gravity

over the rim and into

the pool only to rise for more,

never ending fountain of youth,

seal broken,

the last virgin bud plucked

and supped like the honey

held captive in the center of the oak.

divine drink born of your hand

known to none other,

a shared cup brought as one

when your piece was joined

with mine and desires deep

resurrected in time

with the pulse that turns

blood into wine,

and we feast upon

what is ours alone

from this day on,

limited edition,

special reserve,

your own blend of

Veuve Clicquot di Ponsardin

enhanced with a twist of blue.