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One of my passions in life is food. I wrote this poem in Milan, Italy whilst eating a beautiful dinner. The wine, a barolo, was entrancing as it continued to emerge all the time I was eating my meal.

Caressing A Glass Of Barolo

Ab9ec7b198ebeeb6e81b08141538258bby Mike Brunt19 Feb 2014

Caressing a glass of Barolo,
With the warmth of a hand plaid with passion,
The scent permeating to follow,
Seco taste dryly forming my fashion.

Knowing loving across many tables,
Sumptuous tasting and seeing,
Embracing with yearning and able,
To appreciate fully my being,

Both in talking and passing of flavor,
Exchanging voluptuous versions,
As immersed in this instant to savor,
This deliciousness void of diversion.

For the fruits of the table engulf me,
Wrapping strongly around me in wanting,
My ultimate need flowing freely,
To impart what I feel and be daunting.

To be pious in portending passion,
Be reserved in ingesting this feast,
My warmed hand true absorbing a ration,
And engulfed as is sugar in yeast.

There is mystery poised on my palette,
And those truly in love also find,
That intensity fused etiquette,
Is the making of love in the mind.

I so celibate living a physical wake,
And with spirit enjoining the air,
I have eaten impassioned yet slaked,
In caressing such a singular pair.

Good wine and good food and intention,
With my solitude sought and not hollow,
If my life be no more than invention,
My existence be confirmed in the 'morrow.

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