OK. I've finally written another. Let me know what you think. All comments will be appreciated.
Limoncello
A rainy evening in April
Brings us out to celebrate
The observance of her bearing,
The kiss on the cheek,
The flick of the light switch,
A scent of her florid perfume
As we pass our glinting threshold.
Unfolding the umbrella,
A heavy fall of spring rain
Feeds the tulips and the budding grapevines
As we rush to the car, cold and wet
Another kiss as we settle in with a sigh
I turn the key and headlights gleam,
A Saturday night, a saturnalia of sorts.
An Italian restaurant.
Across at dinner, a quiet corner
We smile and listen, laughter of families,
Ting-a-ling of china and wine bottles
Her luminous face lights the table,
A singer trills Italian songs,
The waiter brings our wine.
A lovely smile, lambent and dark,
Chiaroscuro lips proudly assert,
“I do not look my age.”
My glass of Cabernet licks my tongue
And a thought, do I feel my age,
Having drifted entwined until sunrise
And run three miles in the morning?
Seafood in a marinara sauce
Mussels, shrimp, clams, calamari
Fructi di Mare, over linguine and crushed pepper.
Another glass of Cabernet – Yes –
Brings thoughts of sailors in rough seas,
Farmers with tomatoes and garlic on sunny days;
But, oh, a tuft of grey beneath the dye.
Carrot cheese cake and espresso
With a sliver of lemon peel.
“Would you care for a Sambucca,
Or perhaps a side of Limoncello?”
Limoncello? Yes, a side of Limoncello
Sweet and bitter, snappish and acerbic,
In a conical glass on a stem.
The table, stolidly plane, is now clear
And I stiffen to an alcohol induced buzz
Like a fly entering the cerebellum,
Or is it trying to get out?
The cloudy, chilled liquid, lemon-scented,
Distorts her face as light bends and swerves.
Bending and swerving I fidget childishly
Rocked to rain and flowers and song,
I imagine nestling up to her breast,
Swallowing the last drop of Limoncello,
Not truly believing that my conquering heart
Will one day cease to beat against
The darkness of the universe.
edit: I went and corrected the spelling of Limoncello.


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. I like the subject of this poem, and I like the way you've presented this Saturday night "saturnalia." I like the little details--the mention of the "glinting threshold," the tulips and the vines of the garden, her "chiaroscuro lips," the descriptions of the food, and the way the lines settle contentedly around that "side of Lemoncello/ Sweet and bitter, snappish and acerbic,/In a conical glass on a stem." I'm also glad to see that both of you feel younger than your years. 

