her shirt says ‘RUM’ in black, blocky letters
but she drinks a gin & tonic.
the shorts tell you nearly everything you need
to know; peeking through thin fabric
the pierced nipples say the rest:
tossing a wild glance your way,
a javelin strikes through your shirt, & then
skin, & then, of course, the heart.
it bursts the muscle and continues
until it’s peeking out from behind you,
just the tip.
she smiles like the spear is real, &
you grimace like you can feel it.
from behind her ear she produces a cigarette,
unfiltered. she tilts her glass into her mouth,
the drink trickles into and around ice cubes,
then, finally, past her lips & teeth, down her throat.
you’ll never be quick enough with that lighter,
Jack. but try anyway. finger it in your pocket
as you stumble towards her. just long enough
for her to turn her head in a glance back & a laugh.
you arrive just as her neck twists her face back
toward yours, just as her uncolored lips begin to form the word ‘no.’