A red. Full-bodied, with a hint of spice,
the expert had said.
"Smell it, sip it, roll it around your tongue."
Leaning against cushions, he gazed
into the half filled balloon glass.
Now he could feel
the sun warmed soil,
the gnarled mother vine
that bore luscious purple sons,
entwining his thoughts
in a soft grip,
dissolving his blood
in her own...
with a hint of spice.
This poem inspired by a Magpie tales prompt.