Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dinner Date

Your cultivation of my attention was swift, and somewhat impressive.
Blinding,
bad,
better,
bold,
it was dangerous to dine with you.

I hated to be your dinner date,
because your hands would rule a Kingdom under the table,
and I was a persecuted subject,
tormented,
tortured,
toyed with,
torrid.

Struck by the sudden sweetness of your stare,
I begin to wonder if I am in trouble,
or if I will find my power,
walking out of your hotel room at 4AM for a cigarette, leaving you on the bed,
shivering and shimmering.

I’m so sugary sweet,
so incompatible with your schedule,
sending you so out of sorts that it takes you a week to recover,
but there you go again,
inviting me to dinner.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s