the american

A Poem by Sydney Jane

“I’ll have your favorite,” she playfully whispered.
leaning against the honest glass display,
she stood with a curious strawberry smile.
gazing at the pastel rainbow of gelato,
her round eyes were the same color
of the pistachio cream I spooned for her,
a gentle melon shade of green.

fair like her skin,
a napkin swaddled her dollar.
“bel tenebroso,”
with her number, it read.
Italian, for handsome stranger.