She walks towards you, a skip in her step
You're 20 minutes late. Shirt hanging out. No time to prep.
She plays with her hair, her curls so capricious
But your mind is busy inspecting if her gaze spells suspicious
She playfully chastises you about cancelling for a whole week
Deaf to it all, you worry if she caught that lipstick stain on your cheek
Sipping her coffee in a hurry, she calls her early departure a real
disappointment
Without putting up a fight you welcome it, still dizzy from your
earlier appointment.
She doesn't know.
You breathe a sigh of relief into the nape of her neck. She says
"It's Ralph Lauren"
You feel thrown off your game, for to this unfamiliar musky fragrance your senses are foreign.
You cast away the doubt and follow her for the customary drink,
Instead she says- 'Not tonight, honey. It's late, don't you think?'
Dejected, confused and livid; because it's only a little past four
But as she kisses Goodnight, you can swear there's someone behind the door.
Do I know?
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