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A gorgeous, deep, radiant, tempting glass of wine sits in front of you. The light caresses the surface and plunges into its stomach, gold-strawberry at the top, blood red at the sperical bottom. You gaze at the enchantingly ruby complected beauty and learn about sin. For a moment, only immersing your eyes seems enough to satisfy. For a moment it's enough.
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It already claimed your body, and one sip of the red, and the beer would send it out the way it went in, while you hold your stomach and gasp for air. You stare at the wine glass, seven eighths full, and you've never felt so empty. At the rim of the glass, his saliva sparkles like diamonds.
But then the drinker snatches the wine glass, takes some between his eager lips, tasting what you know to be delicious, what you know from just seeing. And you just want to consume it. He places it before you again, an eighth empty, unknowingly daring you. You would drink it all, first slowly, then heavily, if he turned away. . .if only the beer rolling around in your stomach would allow it. You already drank five mugs of beer before you even saw the wine.
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