Meditrinalia  

She's my vinicultural concubine
when she returns from shopping, with merlot,
and for herself, a dry Riesling divine
for urbane whimsy prattle ebb and flow
wherein her sure countenance will enhance
the phonemes which slip through her romping lips  
to see her cheeks tease more than belly dance
could ever do with undulating hips,
as then the kitchen table is her shrine
and I the audience in devotion
of all wining, dining, and sixty nine
in future master bedroom commotion
on a queen sized altar of stately love
any fine wine goddess would approve of.