each morning at seven

she enters my store

and I watch as she

fingers the cherries

with her long blood-red nails

and her lips glistening the colour of wine

and her miles of stockinged legs

in scarlet stilettos

and I swear to myself

that one day I will

step up like a man

like the man that I am

and tell her

…

I love her

…

and I’ll love her even more

if

she’ll stop playing with my cherries

and play with my grapes

instead.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday – find it here.