Cafe

It was his fingernails that caught her attention

Most men have terrible nails

Chewed, nibbled and torn

Stained and dirty

His nails, on a so very other hand,

Were almost perfect as he tapped his iPhone

Although, she thought, not manicured

She noticed that he didn’t wear a ring

Unbidden, a thought entered her mind

His fingers stroking her nipples to attention

Stop it, she ordered herself

With practiced determination and the indifferent ease of an ice queen

She pulled out her own phone and checked her mail

When she looked up she saw that he was looking at her

Or at least at her hands

So she tapped her fingers on the table top and smiled

He held her gaze

Brought his hands together, clasped

Rested his chin on them and smiled back

 

 

David Trudel   © 2013

 

 

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2 Comments

Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Cafe

  1. Ohhhh, this is so sexy, David. Love it!

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