Red Wine, Queer Fire

They say it’s for winter’s grip,
For fireside whispers, the scent of pine.
But I—
I sip it beneath a molten sky,
Where the sun hums its fiery tune,
Like every queer heart, unapologetically burning in the heat.

Cabernet Sauvignon.
A crimson river in my glass,
Like the glow of rainbow flags
Waving in summer winds.
Velvety, like satin on bare skin,
Warm, a lover’s secret, bold, refusing hesitation.
Like me,
Uncorked, unapologetic,
Defying every expectation with each sip.

Dark fruit bursts—
Blackberry, plum,
Ripe, heavy,
Like rain on hot pavement,
Or the taste of longing that clings—
An open declaration,
What I want, unapologetic.

The tannins are a slow burn—
A fire that crawls, quiet but sure,
Never asking permission,
But taking its time,
Soft, sure,
Like the last rays of sunlight,
Defiant, unyielding.

I drop a cube.
Just one.
It shatters expectations,
Turns this glass into rebellion.
Ice melts like walls crumbling,
Blurring the lines between me and the wine,
What’s allowed and what’s mine.

The world gasps.
I laugh—
They can’t take what’s mine.
Not a puzzle to solve,
Not a problem to fix,
Not a shadow of who they think I should be.
I hold the glass like a weapon,
A declaration:
Queer. Bold. Fiercely free.

This wine,
It doesn’t belong to the rules.
It belongs to fire,
To queer hearts burning brighter
Than the brightest stars.
To the kiss,
Hot, tender, full of secrets,
Shared without hesitation,
Lingering long after it’s gone.

Isn’t that just the way?
A toast to queer hearts burning bright—
For in my hands,
The Cabernet sings,
A symphony of freedom,
Of love that never stops fighting,
Of pride that will never dim.
Its notes are full,
And it tastes like freedom,
Like the summer that will never end.

© 2025 James Erickson. All rights reserved.