[Set in August, after they meet in ‘For Fortune’ accidentally in the street.]

Mugged tea in your hand, 
coffee in mine I
brush my fingers through wet hair
rain-slacked and dripping.

Blush strokes across my cheeks.

I cannot help but look at you,
at your jaw, mouth, 
your eyes.
You sip, and when you sip
I imagine pressing my lips
against you, with you.

I worry about my coffee breath.

‘My hair’s a mess,’ I say
you laugh, ‘I like them wet,’
and wink.

- M. R. Wallis