She never really talks of using a mouth wash
On top of tap water, which prevents me from feeling like dirty Harry

I’m after all the guy who doesn’t put deodorants there
For me it just smells right – as perfect as an aired-out Adam in Eden

And she winks at me and tells me I should be super proud
Of a toothpick that (to me) feels like an obelisk

And as she rinses her mouth, she asks me – was that good love?
And I say “yes honey” – heaven, it seems, was in my reach

And I wait an extra half-an-hour before I kiss her lips
Too petrified of tasting any trace residue of my brew

(Now rushing down the sink hole). And we talk during that time
It seems a tete-a-tete is miles better than love making

When we are not worried about space needles
Crashing through the ceiling, transcending my man spot

And all we do is talk and talk, about the obscure
And the obsolete, the hypothetical, or how thin floss is

And when the 30 minutes are finally up, I slowly plant a kiss
My OCD lips extending ever so slow on her rosy patch

And all I see are Kleenex tissues falling on my lips
And Listerine splashing against my buccal cavity

And I can’t help thinking to myself, how beautiful is love
Always looking past oral-hygiene to preserve oral traditions

A toothpick playing lock and key, a lipstick mark on a wine glass
On the night stand, a conversation and terms of endearment

Even the most hesitant of lips reaching out in claustrophilia
Baffled by laws of attraction, acquiescent

As an amuse-bouche in gratis.