kalopsia

Unclothed on the balcony, sipping your buqisu with intimidating grace. You detest the heat, your nakedness a mixture of blatant defiance and pure disregard. I steal a peek and allow my gaze to linger momentarily.

I turn away just as you look up. 

“Ah, the first days of Spring. I’ll have to change to short-sleeved shirts soon - and for you, dear, the time of ecdysis must be approaching,” I proclaim. 

“I’m afraid somebody was dreaming of me and unraveling my secrets,” you say, “I simply must be more careful when I pick up strangers in the future”.

My mind continues to devour your lithe frame long after my eyes had turned. It had already betrayed itself halfway through last night (very likely after the third bottle of rosé) when lust overcame my fascination for your intelligence. 

“Hardly possible,” I reply, “considering the fact that I was going to be your last dalliance.”

“Is that so? And how did you figure that out?”

I smile because you already knew the answer.