"I'd say you're 28."
She speaks softly, leaning in close
The tilt of her voice
and her smell
provocative
"Close," I say, laughing,
believing her.
She steps in front of me
"How close?"
She leans in,
moves a lock of hair from my ear
"36," I say;
I look at her chest, pale white and freckled
She follows my eyes with her own
"I could be a dirty girl," they seem to flash,
and her lip curls in the hint of a smile
"Really?... Is this your natural hair color?" she says,
Her eyes following mine as I glance back at her pink nipples
then to her eyes again
deliberately
curious what she'll do
Her eyes amused but inviting,
I laugh again
A million possible choices
floating through my mind
I settle on "Yes."
"Is that yours?" I challenge,
having fun now
Pulling this particular dance from the dust
along with a thousand hedonic memories
"No," she says, stepping back a little
a nonchalant solicitation
to take in all of her
She flashes her eyes downward,
like she's read my mind
And then our eyes meet again
and she gives me a wicked grin
she's so open
it's practically a caress
"But it's nice, don't you think?"
And I think, yes.... it is.
