Swathered hollywood silk-sprayed hairslip
cows over top right forehead corner,
a small lick of crackling dynamite sex -

you lipped me, snaggle on the hooch,
pocketed with teeth-marks and coarse
imprints of skin flakes rubbed off friction -

that well-rehearsed mirror play, practiced
intonation of the greeting, seductive
pronunciation of the liberal disclaimer,

hit nothing but net.

And that stealth sentiment snuck in -
this was just one silver-tongued evening -
hung limp in the chocolate air, slip and slide
the dialogue, stained the plot. I saw you
nosh it from the front, first the incisors,
then the rest, sweet like poisoned lime
nixed with thick butterscotch sauce.

And yet...

You cheeked your dimples in and spread
wide that dove-white grin, let me through
and in and served up cut-up ciabatta,
dipped in oils.