Do You Take Your Coffee Black?

I catch your eye
as your Rothmans haze clears;
you smile and twist a curl
of long blond dishevelled hair
around your index finger,
an unspoken invitation
to whisper sweetly,
through dangled earrings,
into gently nibbled ears.

In the twilight of teenage years
you flitter like a restless butterfly,
so seduce me
and I promise I’ll try
to satisfy your silver dancing.

And when the moment comes
its beauty is distorted
even more than your face
which has moved far beyond
any resemblance to death.

I’m still thinking on this
when you offer a cigarette
and light up yourself.
I’m blowing curls of smoke
when you break the silence:
“I’ve run out of milk-
do you take your coffee black?”