The Last Leg

gives me a warm hug. I smell the layers of foundation she always piles on her face. We part and she hands me the bottle.

“Oh, thanks. You know you didn’t have to.”

She tilts her face up into the air and her narrow nostrils open slightly. She says something smells nice and wants to know what it is.

“Your favourite,” I say, noticing the blonde streaks she’s had added to her hair.

A smile spreads over her coloured lips. “Lasagna!” we both say together, like we’re singing the chorus of a song on a girl’s night out.

I look at her straight white teeth. Her dimples that add sparkle to her face.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)