olive rollin'

The light bulb is our moon
and we writhe
bask in each other's skin
and bare teeth only to rescue
olives from the gin in the
martini glass.

The glint off the curve
matches your verve
as you roll the olive
down skin made cool
"That's okay baby,"
you coo, "I'll make it warm."

And the sway of the bulb,
the way you jail me
with sweet breath
frees me from the jails
in my head if only long enough
to free you just the same.

This ain't love, you see,
but it seems good enough to keep
the patrol cars from raiding
and us two from 'fraiding
me melting olives between teeth, and you,
aching while the night wavers.