Her hair is where it starts
It’s not very well kept, you can tell
Which is why you are amazed.
Why does it look so damned good?
Why do you feel like holding her close
And giving it a good, long whiff?
Her lipstick. Red. Crimson.
Bold, in defiance of what all
The other girls do.
Daring you to kiss them.
Daring you to want them.
Then those eyes.
So full of life.
And yet…
Weary.
Almost jaded.
But you know better.
She has not given up on wonder,
On the notion
That the world is Good.
Wondrous. Magnificent.
Her clothes, just on the safe side of
The provocation/proper divide.
Oh, this you know
She has spent lots of time
Thinking and planning and putting on
So you talk to her.
You tell her your observations.
And you see the veneer of professionalism
Drop from her eyes
Just for a moment.
She is amazed,
Despite herself.
That’s when you know,
You have her.
But you don’t.
You don’t actually want her.
Not after what happened
With another
Because she reminds you
Of a girl that you once knew.
And so you grin. Smugly.
All the while your heart leaks blood again.