Slowly, slowly

He had fallen in love with the nape of her neck.

Her strong jaw. The dignity of her dress.

He had never seen her face.

Faithfully, he kept his back turned. Waiting.


Only when the two bufoons arrived was he besotted.

Her voice: Smoky, lingering in her polite rebuffs.

He felt her listening to their drivel. Caught the shadows

Of her inclined head on his newspaper.


Still he waited. Smoking.

Nursing his coffee. Listening.

Sharp nose and sharper ears honing his introduction.

That he would make, once she had introduced herself.




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