Pickles strode through the revolving glass doors.
Smack bang!
In his face,
Soaking into him through his open pores.
His insides wailed at the sudden intrusion.
The exquisite flavours,
Marinading them with smoky hues,
Painting them with its tendrilled tongue.
He pulls up to a counter.
In his mind,
There are flying wombats and rowing otters,
He is thinking of what to order.
A voluptuous lady approaches him.
Her smell perforates the thin fabric of his shell,
Seeping into his essence,
Swaying his body and mind.
She holds out her hand,
A padded clipboard roughly shoved at him.
With her pen,
She points and tap at the alluring pictures.
Her impatience broke his thought train.
Her slurred accent and browned skin beckoned to him.
Drawing his hands faster than his eyes,
They slipped into his pants.
Fumbling with the seams,
They were caught.
Paper bills rustling under his trembling fingers,
As he folded up the 50s and have her the 10s.
Their tips touched.
A sizzle of electricity raced and arced.
Over the points of contact it sped,
Along the veins it traced.
For what seemed like an eternity,
Ended so soon.
The thin edges of her lips,
They curled too.
Through the spinning glass,
A few more spins,
A twirl or two,
A show of hands.
Tomorrow,
Everyday,
Once,
Back again.
Erratic Behaviour
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