You saw the light body, the juicy fruit, and figured I’d be soft—something to swish around and impress your friends with. But then I bit back.
I’m all sour cherry and sass, red berries with dirt still on them, a flick of wild herb just to keep you guessing. My tannins? Slight. Just enough to sting if you hold me too long.
You try to chill me. I warm up out of spite. You try to pin me down. I slip through your fingers and stain your collar.
But I see how you look at me. And I know you’re coming back.
Serve me with grilled sausages, salty crisps, cold leftovers, or nothing at all. I’m not here to behave. I’m here to play.
