the words climb
the staircase of smoke

as they spiral above
the saxophone's sob

she laughs and blows
through a larger ring

( a smaller ring )

as she says what
she would like

him to
do to

her
in no un-certain ways

her smokey words
now the DNA

that twists & turns
in flirtations

"Well. . ?" she wells
blowing smoke into his baby blues

he ahhhh....coughs
a yes

"Come again?" she smirks
despite hearing what he's said

"yeS....yES. . .YES!"
he shouts

as the final
note fades

and a room
in that sudden great silence

stops to
"Wot de..?"

she stubs the but out
in the plastic table cloth

grabs him by
the wrist

drags him
through the dark

he the prisoner
of her

laughter