To the Future

Photo by Tamara Bellis on Unsplash

Always tempting

you dance in the smoke snaking from the

cigars between the fingers of

this banker, that singer

kids in the corner

tic-tac-toers

You turn, skirt fluttering

whisking the smoke

that steams each bland face

into a pink, plump

soup dumpling

Dance toward me slowly,

or at once and kiss

me but not so

hard my face

wrinkles.

Please.