note

We as lovers would first educate ourselves.  If you want to take a class here and there, or get some certification, or whatever, that’s fine.  But first, we should educate ourselves.  Go get books, read them with measured embrace, take notes.. always be a student, and your own professor.  Dive into it not even head-first, but all-you-first.  Wine has always spoken to me with humility and curiosity, urging me to be more like It.  If you love something, someone, and wine is more a ‘someone’ than a ‘something’, then you learn.  But it’s not class.  It’s life.  IT’s words and feelings, reactions realities.  Tonight’s wine again made me a lover.. interpreter or so I hope— lost in my dazzle, rouse, rabble— conflict but not so much afflicted.  I’m writing when all I want to do is sleep, and I have tonight’s yours to thank or that.  Heater coming on, rain maybe outside, but the bottle continues to me speak in verse I’ve never before heard.  Teaching me in a full-time sense, nothing adjunct’d.  Keep writing, I tell myself.  I’ve been most purposefully taught something tonight— how wine can yell a different verse, show a different scene and cry with loving absorption.

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