About Her

13: Red Wine

It has been a habit to stop whatever I am doing every hour, 

and recall the movement of your tongue inside me. 

It moved the way paint is being brushed on the wall, 

and sometimes, the way earth is being swept by a tornado.

It seems odd  that you are very fond of me. 

I can almost picture myself as a red wine kept for years, 

poured into a glass; and you were the drinker who saved it 

for a rare and special occasion.