In the Club...

He looked at me
With eyes accustomed in the punctuated darkness
The darkness elope me
Yet still -- I saw the traces of his silhouette
covered in a light colored knit fabric masquerading as lycra across an expanse of perfect “peclechure”, draping those broad shoulders just enough to make out the indentations of dedicated time--clearly evident from the guns that cling and stretch the knit to a designer’s delight

His look turned into concentration
Penetrating the space intently
Purposely creating a zone of eye communication
Unashamed
The glimmer in his eyes was playful
But precise and deliberate
Taking his time
Sizing the sweetness of the kill

I obliged his challenge
Causing blood stimulation
He licked his lips like players often do
Were they dry or was it a sign of his thoughts?
I traced my lips with my pinky ever slowly
His eyes danced

In a second
The distance dissipated
His hands were in my hands
And the darkness disappeared
I blinked and he was real