Ode to a glass of wine

Your deep dark red incandescence, your legs stretch so long.
Your perfumy bouquet is, in essence, a poison that makes me strong.
Your tingling warmth running down my throat fills me with comfort on a cold winter's night,
and when your succulent juice fills my stomach, my head becomes giddy, and I've nothing to fright.
So, when I've drank my fill and I've gone to bed, I'll wake up with a head in the morn, cussing that Big Moose Red.