I’ve worn your scent all day Could smell you with each shift of my shoulders… My arms Every move I made had you shimmying back to the front of my mind Your scent Now all over me…
Each tiny bit of you that slithered beneath my skin Made my flesh go bumpy and gave me that “Damn I remember you” shiver The one that makes my breath leave my chest whispering raspy memories on its way out Your scent Now all over me Again….
So many years apart A lifetime really since I smelled you last One touch One moment close enough to take you in Feel you and relive your touch, your body, the way mine reacts…. To you…
Here you are again My body once again drenched in your aromas Images of our history dropping before me like snapshots being tossed on a table Exploration Fumbling Finding a rhythm…our rhythm Discovering what I like, what I want and what I need more of…
Remembering the beginning How it all started How I started Part of me was brought to life Awakened Sculpted into this woman I am now Because of you….
Wet mouths Nervous hands The way my whole body would quake My tummy jumping My thighs shaking…. My young hands pushing you away Your earthy and ready aroma pulling me back….
as hell the connection between my life, my body, my desire, my
strength, my want and how something as primal and basic as scent can
evoke memories so vivid that I can actually be transported right back to
that moment when I first touched, tasted and felt.
Nowhere in my life
is this been more prevalent and powerful than with the very thing I chose, or more likely, was chosen to do, this here crazy world of wine. I find myself often not quite fitting in. I read posts and notes, those goofy Delectable entries rattling off what's in the wine, the "blackberry bramble" and "apple blossom" and my eyes begin to float, my heart and desire however, they just sink. Well right after my face scrunches up and I mutter, "What the fuck is bramble?!" I don't taste without feeling, can't write without feeling either. My grammar may suck and and my spelling is even worse, people will, and have, told me over and over again how I won't be taken seriously because of that. As I sit here after reading a passion filled email from a stranger in Italy, one that has spent the past few days reading through my nearly 800 posts, a man that now feels like we've met...almost 800 times and is sending me wine from his family's vineyard. His story for me to taste through the first harvest he oversaw as well as the wines from his father and his father's father, and I am reminded once again, much like life, love, listening, touching, being touched and making love....there is no one right way to do anything, especially writing about something as personal and subjective as wine.
To the French wines that first slipped beneath my skin, made me purr, bend my frame, crave and leak desire, thank you. To the handful of you that come here to jump over my typos and grammatical errors to sink your teeth into me and the wines that move me, I thank you. I miss you when I'm away too long....and most of all, I need you. You feed me and keep me hungry. To open my heart, my laptop and my mouth for more.