Prospect Perky Rose I & II

Is there shame? Some, but its gone green and aromatic, like the pruny notes of saffron petal, insatiability, and correction. Open up your head and let the characteristic reflective pink color, the cold white mirror on the top of the glass out. Look for sticky sweaty DPKs rolling around the front of the open in dirty haze.
Fantastic! Great! Perfect! So good! Excellent! Grand! Marvelous! Awesome! Super! Shiny! Shimmering! Splendid! Tell me princess, now when did, you last let your heart decide?
The fruit is in high affect in this devilish little art-house fare. A truly unambivalent blending of the steam of early spring with the crystal chill of midwinter. The soils of paper thin pickled ginger slice nearly hide the thick sap of disappointment in the you-self you notice in her away-walk.
On the nose is a sweetness bordering on bitchiness that will put off the more discerning of your friends but be not deterred for the greater treasure lieth in store to be claimed by he who dareth brave the porcupine fields of porcuponia, where the happy maidens dance and sing and crush ripe grapes beneath those grape crushing things. Feet, you call them.
So light in body you'll swear it must diet, but it's that very sweetness that gives it its frat boy punch. Try and hurry it along, try and be linear or directional in your therapy palate but there's no room today for exclusivity. Just one long velvet road from strawberry ice cream to marshmallow fluff.
Herds. Herds of wild beasts sprawl across the vistas of the open, leaving plenty of room for those portly, even chestnut, winds of development. Themes of roasting and distortion crank up the crazy and rip off the knob before fading marvelously into vapor and vaporousness. A gardening full of sculpturings bakes in the sun.
One way leads to sweet reward, the other to saccharine reward, where everyone is thin and beautiful. One way leads up, the other also up. One way is an escalator, the other an elevator with a tin roof and a glass wall, and a steel wall and a brick wall and a missing wall and a cardboard wall and a wall with doors and a stucco wall and a broken wall and a forgotten wall and a marble floor and a wet wall and a primrose wall and a rosemary wall and a tea rose wall and a rosy wall and a rosin wall and a prose wall and a rusty wall and a wall with buttons on it and it takes you up to the dive floor where the third class passengers stay. They're poor but they're so merry. They don't have gold or baby bjorns but they have wheelbarrows of aromatic chilies, mace, twigleaves. Passing notes of sage and green onion protect the pools of gooseberry, raw coffee, green syrup, the falling waters of candy-canes, the lake of bug bites and allergies. Purple stained tongues and skinned knees drain off the palate, weighed down with sunburn, yawnings and cargo shorts, and leave behind a fine silt of maturity and yesterday's melancholy. Light suspended in time. Rainbows suspended in ponies. Fanciness suspended in utero.
Between the close and the finish, pointillisms of chokecherry, radish-beet, and saltspore turn life into a game, so you don't have to.
Uh-oh! I lost track of myself when this all began. Can you help find me? Amid one glass, there are over 1400 waldos running about. Can you find them all between the nose and the wipe? Mail your answers in for a chance for big prizes. Hundreds will enter. Dozens will win. Underage? Get a parent's permission.

Varietal: The secret way you feel
Food Pairing: No food necessary. Just a paper bag and some good friends.