She scared a crow with the threat of a kiss,
tumbling over chuckles and rocks in her glass.
Her red lipstick lips glistened with a glare
to scare anyone who dared approach.
She spoke through vodka breath,
staining my collar.
Now, it’s permanent.
And I fear the thought of love.
I don’t do forever well.
I’m scared to death.
She can tell.
The tremble in her lips tells me,
she’s just as scared.
I guess only time will tell.
(© 2022 AC)