She waltzed in on black pumps; a sultry woman whose gait glued your eyes to her graceful curves. The immaculate bodycon gown clung like a perfume, and was highlighted by the red signature soles of her shoes: was she a seductress in white, or an innocent lined with crimson?

Her hair was shiny ebony; a luxurious mane with curls that made you want to bury your fingers in them. It was packed in a tight bun that left her face naked, and you attendant to the curious stories it told. Her lips were unpainted, but the lights of the hall danced on the gloss on them. Her pout made you want to dive in for a kiss, yet the curvature told you to explore slowly. The little black mole on the left side of her face -just below her lip- made you want to ask questions.

Had it always been there? Did she know it highlighted the shape of her face that little much more? Had she ever tried to remove it?

It made you wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, you could nibble on it.

Lost in my thoughts, I did not see her until she was right in front of me, her nose so close to mine we were exchanging breaths. Her eyes sparkled, and danced with mischief; two dark crystal balls with flecks of gold that mirrored my face; yet wouldn’t tell me the future. Her perfume intoxicated, so I looked down and found her lips.

“I’m February. Let me love you”

That was the whisper her curved lips let slip.



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