With your hands covering my eyes I’m testing your wine while you are standing right behind, close, very close, the soft sound of your voice, so very close to my neck, travels with the air you breath, oh, so very close to my ear. Well, how about it then? I nod in approval. Your hands opening up my line of sight, a cloudy light orange wine, which remains I’m still savouring in my mouth, swirling in my glass, your glass cause we share, we share everything we can, exploring this sensorial world on our own terms, we, together, decide. Everything is new, your smile and mine synchronised ‘like a virgin, touched for the very first time’ I wonder what part of my brain is handling all this. Glad to see that you, like me, don’t find your thrill in the chase, a game reserved for the insecure and lame. Cross over here and come swim with me, was all it took, and now, we are hooked, to each other and the wild and pure flow in between. As nature is our witness we cherish our human condition forgetting what we have been told, we have a voice of our own, celebrate our intensity, political drive and physical call. I take a sip of this crisp tropical sunset coloured delight blended with your lips and as I walk towards the little girls room, I consider the thought of falling into this habit of my awaken mind reminding this, all too keen, heart of mine, shall this come to an end, sooner or later me or you shall want different, something else… and I stop myself right there, for I am not sure, either where this feeble routine comes from, neither of its worth of use. This patronizing of emotional brightness by this cocky acuity state of mind. With a life of all wishes granted and in no possession of bucketed list of lamentations, I return to the embrace of your arms, without shell nor shield, to savour this cloudy light orange wine opening up in the glass share.
Orange wine. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales (The red table & A scared black cat book adventure)