The cigarette lolls dramatically from his full bottom lip
He lowers his eyes to keep his secrets; they are the colour of Perrier glass.
The mottled green suit he chose cut his legs into straight muscular lines
He slouches into a perfect posture.
Cashmere Wool Smoke Sweet waxy kisses left on his skin
You could bottle his scent.
He speaks in low velvet tones
We hear only him above all the coarse chatter
We laugh because we don’t understand him
and we cry because we never will.
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