It's a cool place to meet. 25 cent wings. Nice, tiny booths Lit by tiny electric lamps In the guise of candles, That give everything a nice, golden glow. It's a Corona light, And Corona-colored light always makes me feel at ease.
She pulls up in a silver acura.
Gets out of the car and I can see her *** from the front of her as she syrups over.
She’s got on a Black tanktop; black bra straps showing against white-pink puerto rican skin all while holding up those veritable C's.
Her hips burst against a long, beige d r e s s, and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.
We have conversations about feeling older than eighteen and twenty-one respectively.
Our lips are saucy and oily. Tiny chicken scraps can be felt in our teeth.
"I just started reading Starship Troopers."
"Yea, I love that movie."
I've never seen the movie, but it endears her to me
that she loves it.
"Do you have any plans?"
"Plans?"
"After college?"
I plan on finishing my wings before you, then I'm hoping you'll let me hold your ****.
"Not yet."
"You know I've read some of your poetry."
"What do you think?"
"I like it," She smirks, uncomfortably.
She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.
"Truthfully, it was too much for me, you really shouldn't talk about things like that."
She brings the wing to her lips and smacks it down with a loud ******* noise of a working, pink tongue.
I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her. Now I’m lost. Because she’s got black eyes and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.
I start thinking about how white her teeth are, and how much two people can never know about each other.