Pas Ce Soir

Friday night
the city becomes alive

She touches up her red lips
just in time for the stranger’s arrival

The conversation between them are smooth
gliding over her Persian blue silk blouse
and his flattering compliment

His fingertips casually strike out thermal waves
with each intentional brush of her arm

It’s getting beyond cosy warm there
and his scent smells late night passion
He moves closer and whispers desire in her ear

Confronted by his tempting invitation
she pinches herself hard
leaving a mark on her inner thigh
where wild nights used to overstay
and never had the courtesy to pay her with respect

She remembers all that devastating aftermath
So she leans over and whispers to him
“Pas Ce Soir”

Published by

Cassa Bassa

πŸ‡¦πŸ‡ΊπŸ‡¨πŸ‡³ inquisitive, observant, witty, a thinker, was a misfitΒ child 😊

17 thoughts on “Pas Ce Soir”

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