At the winery
I’ll sip the chardonnay
And then with moistened lips
Place them gently
On the curve of your neck

You’ll shudder, but you cannot moan
Lest the other tourists hear you
And wonder why we left them
To wander into an anteroom

And there, by ourselves,
With the cool damp walls
As witness, we’ll sip
From each other’s glasses
And taste the wine
When our lips fuse in that
First fevered kiss

The curve of your neck
Is so sensitive a place
I have surprised you before
With a quiet assault upon
Its battlements only to have
You surrender with just a sigh

And no complaint has fallen
From your lips, or dismay
Your eyes. You are, in fact,
Prone to such heated
Acquiescence when so
Divined and your
Response is usually
To whisper and tell me
You will have your revenge

It is waiting for it
Hotly knowing no
Venue, public or private,
Is safe from
Its display that keeps
My lips moistened
And ready to strike

But truly, darling,
We should be discreet;
We astonish too many
Too often with our sensual
Tangos in open places

I know, it’s my fault,
And there would be none
If only I would keep
My lips from worshiping
Your warmest, sweetest flesh

But frankly, love, some addictions
You just don’t wish to cure.

08/12/2011

Posted on 08/12/2011
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch