The history of wine is the story of lips and a sea.
The two found themselves there upon waking in the morning. One sat up and brushed the sand from her eyes and palmed around her the soft ground covered in cold small spheres of pale green and ruby. She traced the curves with the pads of her fingers, feeling further and further until her arms were stretched wide and her face close enough to kiss them and as she started to do that she heard a little rustle. Turning she saw him lying tousled and strewn with bits of grapevine and looking up at her. Neither of them remembered how they came to be there, and neither much cared to remember.
She lay back down, and closed her eyes, and breathed in the must in the air above them, and then he did, too. At first they lay quietly together, each enjoying feeling their body balanced on the tiny-globed cushion. And then he lifted his head very slightly, and a little sphere beneath it burst. As he bent to look at her, one by one more little globes popped and she turned to look at him and they soon found themselves showered in garnet and golden. Together they drank in the day this way while a sea slowly rose up beneath them, kissing in the waters as the heat turned the liquid a deep velvet red. And they paid no attention as the dark swell gradually submerged them, flowing over their skin as it did its best to touch them and taste them while they tasted each other. By the time the sun set the two had disappeared into the liquid, and the wine-red sea gradually seeped back into the ground, and very slowly a carpet of tiny black jewels began to speckle the soil, and everything was quiet until the next morning when two others woke up and found themselves covered in blackberries.