A cold evening.
Index and middle finger
Pressed against his lips.
Blowin' the fog
In the freezing atmosphere.
He wasn't a smoker,
But that didn't stop him
For trying out a new fad
Called -
' Being Smooth. '
She watched,
As he danced awfully bad,
In the style of improvised tango.
With a red rose in hand,
He bites it down.
She stared into his seductive eyes,
As he slowly realized,
That the rose still had its thorns.
©jaykirish
J