You were sitting across from me

in a booth at the Pho place,

your noodles eaten,

your bowl almost empty,

and you leaned back,

tired, sank into the vinyl seat,

and a particular look

came over your eyes.

 

Your sleepy gaze cast a spell on me.

 

You whispered to me then

without words,

in the language of your body,

which I understand

all too well.

 

Your head told me

to run my fingers

through your short spiky hair.

Your smooth cheeks told me

to paint them

with hungry little kisses.

Your lap told me to

climb in.

Your mouth told me

to fill it with my pretty pink nipple.

Your hands told me to abandon myself

to your touch,

to give up everything,

spread myself wide

and receive sensation.

 

I am a good girl, you know.

When you speak to me like this,

I can’t help

but listen.