Lip-Splitting

Wine.

Wine.

Oh how I adore wine.

The name itself, pronounced, full and rich, with a perfect roundness to it. "Wine".

The beautiful bottle tilted toward your tall glass, fragrant red liquid splashing into the round base above your fingertips, making a musical "slosh" as it settles unifying into a deep colour.

You hold the glass rim near your lips and with slow ease, breathe in the aroma of this glass of sheer indulgence produced by expert wine-makers with crushed fruits from their vineyard (I imagine a hilly expanse of fresh greenery with a fine veil of fog). And then you stick out your tongue and as you lick the inner rim of your glass, you simultaneously allow droplets of saliva to mix with the wine. A good wine will sizzle and ripen further, and it will release a mushroom of smoke in vibrant colours of the rainbow.

Ah wine. I have always loved and longed for you, since my first taste of brilliant white when I was 16, on a tour to the Great Ocean Road. I remember it, a restaurant with white walls and big glass windows facing the great shore. On my table before me was a plate of seafood something. I tasted the wine after a few bites of my savoury plate, and was startled by the amazing harmony of food and wine. I never forgot that first experience...

Wine goes with food. Wine without food I cannot enjoy completely. Ah how I long for someone to whisk me away to a posh restaurant with gentlemen in clean suits as waiters who pour a nice glass of wine for me as I enjoy it with a nicely seasoned chicken dish... but here I am stuck in my room with a cheap bottle of sauvignon blanc in my fridge which I am too afraid to touch since I am suffering minor hypotension for the day. Also, I have no chicken dish ready lest I pry one out of my freezer and thaw it forcibly with hot water then remove its fat and wash its blood and cook it in my oily kitchen.

I don't think so.