Cabernet

Drinking her was like sipping fine wine,

Rich,

Sweet,

Savored bringing a gentle warmth in your throat,

Pulling him into an oblivion,

her velvet feel sliding over his mouth until the end,

leaving a lingering after taste,

 memories stained his lips,

and then he was left to wonder,

why the cheap bottles never tasted quite the same.

Reviews

[angel]

Life is a cabernet, old friend...
I'm sorry. That just couldn't be helped.
Seriously, I liked your poem. and having grown up rich, then ending up poor, I do know the difference between expensive wines and Ripple...or even Boone's Farm.
I particularly liked the phrase 'memories stained his lips'.