I made eye
contact with a woman
carrying turquois around.
Her pale neck, warm and slender,
contrasted softly, calf-length
shorn cotton colored by
the night. Her heaving blonde
strokes of hair brushed the skin
lovingly and shaded each cheek bone
with dynamic pulsation,
rivaling the fluttering
eyelids beneath my forehead.
I could easily recognize her
before
she told me I could
take an empty seat
facing her
away
to my table, alone.
But then
she held out her hand
gently petting the chest
of another man-- and I was silent.
Wrapping her ankle around his shin
she seemed to stare at me
through the back of his head, but
I was sure I would slide out of my chair
if she saw me watching.
I sat there, feeling her
rough tongue and brittle fingers
from around the world
pry into my mouth and glance my chin,
smiling with teeth
partially inside his skull.
Cooing,
as I had been,
she reached into
my chest
without knowing.