tryst

In the orange glow of the parking lot lights
there was a thrill.
An Indian Summer breeze blew his shirt, her hair.
“Oh you know I do so love Monday nights,” she whispered.
“I thought class would never end tonight. The teacher just kept going on and on
about Magical Realism,” he said then laughed at the thought.
“Let’s take your car this time. Mine is almost out of gas.” she said as she turned to the passenger side door.
“Whatever you say. I am your fool.”

And so it was. Each Monday night. Guiltless. Unseen except for the old English professor who was walking to her car, still thinking about Marquez.

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~ by hannahcsykes on October 1, 2008.

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