A couplet of olives

Cocktails at six,  their first clink of a toast
almost spilling both

So sticky, so green, such a Belle Époque sheen
she'd seen in a French magazine

Peppery, spicy, yet enticingly sweet
a meeting, indiscreet

Her weakness Martini, his a Manhattan
two comme il faut olives, one green and one black

Absurd how their hands lingered over the snacks
that contact, electric

Just a couple of olives, some discarded pits
- just how they left it.