Her lipstick snapped at me before she uttered one word
Red, popping, fiery
She charged a flame within me
abandoned years ago.
Her hips swayed through a skirt
cloying for a contact high for which low-level dealers begged
She wrapped her lips around an iced coffee
sweating at her fingertips
Caramel, cold, wet
She slipped her number across the table
a wink ushered her departure.
She whispered before the bell clanged
When I turned
She was gone
An enigma waiting for solution
Will I call?
My life beckons an adventure
with a ticket she promised to gift.
– Latanya M. Ivey ©2020