Aubrey took in the dame
in the red dress, her hams
moving under the tight cloth,
her ringed fingers showing

as she moved her hands, the
pointed dugs like small noses
pressed against the redness.
He took in her hair, noticed

the colour, the waves, the  
highlights. He sipped coffee.
Cappuccino, white froth on
his upper lip, wiped off with

the back of his hand. She
stood window shopping;
stood moving her legs, her
hams in **** motion still.

He leaned back. He eased
against the chair. She had
stooped forward. Her eyes
price gauging, hands behind

her back, holding a hand
bag, rings showing. He
settled on her neckline.
A necklace, silver, a cross

without a Christ. She turned
and gazed up the shopping
mall. She sighed. He watched.
Sipped coffee. The waitress

who brought it walked with
a wiggle. Tiny backside, tight,
she thin as if some Modigliani
dame. She walked by holding

an empty tray. Wiggled, head
level. The dame in the red dress
turned and faced him. Their
eyes met; green on brown;

hers on his. She looked away
taking nothing of him. He
drank in her eyes and mouth;
lingered in his darkroom mind.

He sipped again. She folded
her arms, handbag hanging,
eyeing her small gold watch.
Aubrey took in her legs,

the hairlessness, the silk
smooth suntanned legs.
Younger he may have
drooled; now he just

gazed and gazed. She
looked up the long mall.
He sat up and downed
his coffee. Her Romeo,

if such, arrived. They
embraced; he swung
her around. Excitement,
bright eyes, smiles.

They walked off. Aubrey
watched her go, not
unhappy or ill, he'd had
his sight and had his fill.