185 of 320

by Dana Jaffe

Thick dark curls peak out from under your white painter's hat.
I long to stroke the sweet tendrils,
and wonder if tonight will be our night.
You come to my door when I call you,
to deliver my food order, filling that kind of hunger.
We actually spoke last Tuesday, more than your usual few words,
your shy request for the fee.
With your sweet smile, teeth gleaming,
eyes widened, staring straight into mine,
we chatted about the available menu, and the cost of tomato paste,
and it almost seemed like you wanted to stay longer.
Like perhaps you also wondered,
If tonight would be our night.

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Poetry: Lust

by Dana Jaffe

Poetry: Lust

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