Not ready yet

Lovers in a cafe

The paintings all sit in a row against the wall

Empty conversations-

Deluding the sincerity of each stroke of the brush, each smear of the charcoal.

You looked so sweet 

Your lips were still wet from your coffee free beverage.

Your hands placed nicely on the wooden table slightly touching mine.

Staring at the neatly hung photographs to the left of us

Questioning the price of each.

I’d reply stating that art is art.

“Art is art?” You’d question feeling the inside of your jacket.

Up and down

Up and down

The back of your hand grazed against the hidden fur 

Holding my breath, wishing it was the insides of my legs.

Back to the conversation- “Yes, it's art” 

“I can take that picture myself,” you boasted while the artist sat only a couple lonely people away.

“Why don’t you hang your art up here?” You looked at me intensely trying to read me, trying to analyze my facial expression. 

Draw back

“I’m good, not ready yet.”