Quattro Mani, 2008 Montepulciano d'Abruzzo

As he moves through the tall grasses at the edge of his field, he puts distance between himself and the carefully plowed land behind. He smells the earthy germ and pollens of the land surrounding him, mushrooms somewhere, browned butter, sage, clove, and the spice of the earth tickling his senses. He brushes his roasted chestnut hair out of his eyes and raises them to the midafternoon sun, shielding his brow with dusty, muscular forearms covered in scratches from the shaded blackberry brambles at the edge of his farmland.

He returns his gaze forward and moves his strong, compact frame ahead toward the sturdy, unfinished bench among the short grass. Though he is not a boy anymore, his body is in its prime, taut and lithe. He is striking and apparently powerful, but if you look in his eyes you see his softness and at once appreciate it.

As he walks, he notices the ash on his hands from his earlier work in the smokehouse; a recently slaughtered suckling pig is midway though a twelve-hour smoke and already mouthwatering. As he brushes off the ash, the scent of fire and smoke that floats up past his nose in the breeze reminds him of the hearth in his kitchen and transports him to that morning at sunrise next to it, breakfast in hand: a strong cup of coffee, a thick slice of bread with butter and his wife's homemade blackberry jam.

Arriving at the wooden table and benches, he finds lunch: a crusty, rustic loaf of ciabatta; a hunk of homemade truffled salami; a decadent tile of bittersweet chocolate. As he tastes a piece of the salami, he makes that sound that perfect food causes you to make... that half-grunt, half-sigh, vocal exhale of pleasure and satisfaction. He takes off his shoes and smiles faintly as he feels the grass between his wiggling toes, savoring this moment of rest, of relaxation.

In his peripheral vision moves a flash of olive skin and black hair, strawberry lips and fiery eyes. He turns to see his wife walking towards him from their house, gait delicate yet confident, body muscular yet feminine, her ample, supple breasts swaying and bouncing as her bare feet maneuver the soft grass towards her husband. She carries an uncorked bottle of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo in one hand and 2 glasses, already poured, in the other.

She moves in close to him and laces her fingers through his, smoothly passing him his glass. Eyes locked, they chin-chin, then bring the wine to their lips for a sip of the luscious, deep purple just delicious.

Instantly they pull each other into a passionate, violent, powerless-to-stop-it kiss. As their tongues palpitate around one another, they hurriedly deposit their glasses onto the table, ruby drops splashing onto the weathered wood as they drop to the ground and begin to wrestle each other's clothes off.

jsquared