Better than Wine
Better than wine, he thought,
laying here and drowning his mind
in the smell, the feel
the taste of her
as she wrapped herself around him,
her lips brushing his,
her tongue dancing a hot and languid ballet with his,
as eager to share with him
the touch of their love
as on the first night
he slid his hands across her softness,
so long ago.
Better than wine,
each day, sweeter than the last.