… at first…

Revision 3

This damn dark room, the threat of dust on everything
Even people,
About to take over.
Even the masonry has grown yellow, pre-law cancer-sticking
But that haze hasn’t left, this bar was steeped far too long in it.

Teetering two edges of this stool
My nostrils boil, flare and flutter
As you languidly draw near
Chanel #5, no… some grocery-store bought honeysuckle,
A draft rolls the winds across those very fields of my younger days.

Saddle up alongside, my eyes lost for a long moment
No two, up those legs.
I’ll lean in a little closer with maybe one leg to stand on
Surprised at the semi-inviting slightly open half moon grin
Not a scowl…
You’d never say no, I say.

My lips lunge forward, five maybe six senses enamored
The explosion of tingles tangles rendering me tasteless.
Mouths meet again, a bit of bitter strikes my tongue
A longer lick emits a hint of vanilla, almost machined
Residue I’ll bet from your dolling up.

A pucker of lips and a doleful raised brow
Force me to recenter on a wavering top shelf.
I softly lunge forward, a risk
Settled by bar stool pegs
Pride rightly swallowed.

I’m taken aback; return four legs to the floor
My whole body consumed, entwined
With everything about you,
There may be none finer.

I’ll sit and stare deeply
Into your complexion well-tanned.
I can still feel the heat bred,
The forcefulness followed by subtlety
It’ll be with me for a while.

I can see it now,
You’ll either break me or kill me
At sixty dollars a bottle.