Dão.

Sit with me to sip slow a glass of red wine, last bottle from Portugal, Dão. Sweet, peppery-warm when I savor and swallow. Heating me, slow from inside, I feel my lips redder now, your eyes of golden dusk, ready now. Slow, until the candle wick no longer glows, we sit across imaging how this night might go, you are delicious, deep within your ambient pour and flow.

Excerpt from
Between Jerusalem and Mexico, a taboo love.