Aroma /an expensive one/.
Promise /for taste/.
Bait /for the senses/.
Label /an exacting one/.
Man in profile /of a womaniser/.
As soon as they lift the glass to their lips, women make that well-mastered gesture with their eyes half closed, in which you do not understand whether they swallow out of pleasure /or out of ennui/.
Such women are able to recognize cheap wine by the sound it makes when it splashes against the sides of the glass. By the loud pop of the cork. By the state of euphoria. Much advertising /much turnover/, much… ado about nothing.
With gestures well-worked out and agility well-trained, cheap wines, after all, manage to get close to such lips. In order to teach them that love does not take a shortcut, no bubbles form when it is poured, it does not sting. Love is not a label for “mass consumption”. It is pungent. With an aftertaste. With an aroma recognisable among a thousand glasses broken in your feet. Love matures. It is never on sale. It costs more than a lot.
I do not like cheap wine.
It does not live up to my taste (no matter how the label is printed, drawn, stamped, delivered). Cheap wines are obvious by the indifference of the lips, discreetly wiped dry with a napkin.
“The mistake is (not) mine”, I hear myself saying.
Please, offer me another bottle.
/And let its price not matter/.
Let it not be cheap wine!
Text: Eva Koleva