02 April, 2012


Mustachios point out
two seemingly divergent
poles, his eyebrows
arching recognition from
over the nibbled remainder
of his muffin top, and mine
do the same, a greeting
whispered from the shore of
my lips against the foaming
waves of my caffeed confection.

I could make a
great deal of all this,
some analysis of the
quality and quantity of our
facial foreplay, but instead I
think to let it go and
simply bask in the
fleeting attention of the sex
opposite my own before
we all, as such frivolous
creatures do, turn the flashlight
of attention toward
all the other maybes we hope,
finally, to yes.

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