The Burning Martini…

Fingers curl a stinger
of scorpius     cherry nail-polish
and rumors     loud as they laugh
private in corner seats   voices to gain
precedence over words, eventually.

Intelligent twists in shakes
of martinis and napkin stains
of prolonged drool drops. Stop mid-sentence.
Eye blue upon eye green
blotting lipstick     from red to pink
dab the blush    hush.     I hear nothing.

The moving lips     the open lap       
1.3 degrees across      her spandex in delicate overlap
that pivot of her line      she walks in stunted heels
a spinning platform             if only    you could cross...

I order a bourbon, raging hot
and some lobster for texture
Spoons clash with glass   so often
like marriages that crash     so often
Forks lancing through flesh
and darting tongues through souls
Teflon they banned    not her cling-wrap.

Jealousy strikes   right around midnight
A black smoke rises to these eyes
and I drip   alone     the forked road
of mixed feelings and chocolate fetish
(a cold room melting   82% black)
All I see      and hear       
         is her               or is it him?
         A raw serpent on potter's wheel?

Wish this head shrunk-wrapped inside
a matchbox frame and set itself
on fire      a prayer. (So often).

A brick tucked between my legs
that wedding song that freed itself           
from depths   of gut and garter    sings
Moaning under the cubes   its reflection speaks
to the face on that spoon          that enters his tongue
                while she stirs a vortex
                 mad in my drink…