He - Part I

The bartender hands him the bottle.
His slender fingers grip the base with an elegant familiarity.
His stance, awkward.
Trying to make and maintain eye contact and be charming whilst hiding his fatigue.

He adjusts the strap on his shoulder and smiles with a nonchalant air,
revealing a pair of pearly whites and dimples as deep as sin, punctuating the space beyond the corners of his mouth.
My queasiness begins.

Regret jumps in to take the place of the "no thanks" that hastily left my lips in response to his offer.
Cotton fills my mouth and sand scrapes all traceable moisture from my throat.

Automatic barrier put in place with hopes that this may conceal the weakness his aura evokes.
But following some giggles and blushing, 'erm'-ing and flashbacks of his baritone and melancholy string-strumming, we talk.

Him, nursing the remnants of his beverage. And I, succumbing to his quirky charm.
Welcoming his invitation to mental stimulation and amorous elevation as I envisage us arm in arm.

I bow my head to avoid the sparks aimed my way.
We walk aimlessly, paying no mind to the time threatening to deaden the atmosphere.
Both of us refusing to allow the need for sleep to deprive us of this mutual exchange.
His voice a strange yet refreshing change from the usual strains of 'man dem'.
The English language slips off his velvet tongue like honey and sweetens my gaze.

Time to turn the page...