The taste of tequila never leaves my lover's lips

The taste of tequila never leaves

We licked our lips, coarse salt clinging
to our teeth while a mariachi band,
blared, and tequila flushed wetness
from between your supple thighs
glistening with love’s dictionary
which never spoke of meaning
just moist words. Whole your earrings
cut from seashells danced and swayed
to our heated rhythms, as you slowly lifted
your thin cotton skirt, on display
like show-and-tell as it was
in the sixth-grade when darkhaired Sophie
smiling as she was taught by her mother,
facing our classroom audience.
Singing in spots the Doris Day number
about how whatever will be will be.
Then bending over bowing in thanks
just far enough to catch a glimpse
of white camisole loosely guarding
pink budding breasts. As you flash your breasts at me now
alluringly, coyly asking if i like your latest photo.
And like all boys/men i tumble into the alcohol answer abyss
casually saying i like another snapshot of you more.
So you shut down like little Sophie forgetting the words,
to “que sera sera”. Her face not frightened – but hardened.
Blaming me for your sudden silence –
and all the more beautiful/talented girls/women
i must surely have been with. Far more attractive than you,
so you say, because my attractiveness to women
is now your weapon. While you refuse to sing arias
of stubborn revenge even though
i adore you as so much more. So much more.
And outside the mariachis frenzied instruments spout
notes that hover over passion stained sheets,
already filled with both our excitements.
And does a musical note stop resonating?
Or does it go on and on into the night
like the mariachis playing until the tequila is finished?
Like you playing me, my coarse tongue
hungering to lick the salt off teasing anxious flesh.