Eating Out (redraft)

A redraft of an earlier love poem thingy. This one is now cooked to my requirements, and ready to serve. Enjoy!

Eating Out

When he laughs his tongue
splits his lips, spider lines
compressed like the accordion
serenading the the diners;
the veins across his bow-nose
beacon his joy of fine malts.

Her joy is sedate, her oatmeal
hands clasped to the linen
where she hides her smile,
her beige eyes tuned to his face;
I watch her water-stretched heel
stroke along the curve of his calf.

I carve designs on the tablecloth
with the steel of my knife, quiet
amid the clatter. As I wait
for your late arrival I refuel
on cheap house white and the sight
of the waiter's tight groin.