Erotic PoetryStudy in PerfectionShaken, please,
not stirred in the mundane manner.
I watch his lean, tanned hands
as they create
the perfect martini.
I like the precise way
he swirls and tips, pours and smiles,
the finger and thumb-drop plop
of olives, two, and his eyes on mine
as he passes his passion to me.
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