later that night

after slipping back
into her dress,
she says, while
applying another
coat of paint
upon her lips,
and dusting her
cheeks, tapping
gently on
the bottom of
a black bottle
of perfume,
touching a delicate
tear drop
behind each ear,
i'm not your cup
of tea, am i,
not really, she
says, before i
can think to
answer, and
that's fine,
and neither
are you mine,
but yes, we can
have a very good
time together, now
can't we.