Two springs ago, I was invited to an olive oil tasting.
I didn't know these things existed,
but I have rich friends.
And this is kind of my imaginary-- whatever.
It's called "Paesano."
"At first, we only dipped our bread in it.
And then as we savored other aromatics,
we dipped asparagus and cauliflower.
Soon, all of it was starting to become heady.
We dipped cheeses, we drank wine and the smokiest liquors.
The room became dank, and suddenly, we
were dipping our fingers each in succession
and feeding the savory oils to one another.
Boys to girls, girls to boys.
Old men to younger men, there was no amount of tasting of one
another's fingers that was too much.
When the lights dimmed, we took off our ties
and scarves, and sometimes raised
the hems of skirts and trousers and began
to smear the amazing olive oil on our bodies.
Oh, god, we were creative.
And we ascribed in moments the lemon oil
to each other's prodigious nipples,
the organic recipe to the wide hunks of our abdomens,
the orange infusions we rubbed into shoulders and flanks,
raising the thick woman's skirts to ensure good fragrant olive
oil was in their hips.
Amazingly, no one spoke.
Or to be truthful, no one spoke of the oil
itself, all talk was of music and movement.
The brilliant adaptation of cello and thousand-year
woodwind to the simplicity of one clef or another.
We spoke of one another's sleek fashion and even
the continuous color of our mouths,
but no one mentioned the olive oils, which by now, we
had begun smearing into one another's fat or taut thighs,
palm folds noisily applied to scrotal and cunt.
Sometimes, there was a moan.
Sometimes, a caught breath.
In all the while, the gracious sommelier
in the corner of the room, red haired,
and the dapper speaking softly of the tree's old age.
How they were generations of his people
involved in the harvest, the slow cook, and experiment
with fire.
How he had brought news of their love.
All the while his thumbs making slow circles in a woman's back,
all of us spilled onto the street marveling
at the madness of its simmering perfumes."