No Hemlock for Me by Tobi Alfier

Ouzo on ice,
an outdoor taverna in Oia.
The sunset a cliché of every
postcard mailed home or never
sent. Our room just steps away.
The strip begins with our shoes
under the table, a cat nuzzles
our toes. Greasy olives shine
your fingers, I nibble the taste
off your mustache. Ouzo cloudy
in the glass, let’s get out of here.

Campari in an old juice tumbler
tastes the way cocaine used
to feel.  Mix it with gin, pretend
it’s a martini. Drink it straight,
it’s the stuff you paint your nails
with not to bite them. It makes me
high, makes me wicked, that bitter
taste at the back of the throat,
let’s get out of here.

Best of all, the wine you kiss
me with; you are taller than I,
your mouth a vessel of merlot.
It changes taste not only with time,
but the warmth of you as it flows
from your mouth to mine. A love
of this purple gold is shared far
beyond vintage or vine. The nape
of my neck, your waist, we hold
each other still.  I am a greedy
equal-opportunity lover of libations
as long as you’re with me.
Kiss me again, let’s
get out of here.

 Tobi Alfier is a multiple Pushcart nominee and multiple Best of the Net nominee. Both “Slices of Alice & Other Character Studies” and a reprint of “Sanity Among the Wildflowers” were published by Cholla Needles Press. She is co-editor of San Pedro River Review (www.bluehorsepress.com)

Previously published in Gargoyle – 2013