I need it fast.
Melancholy has consumed. As of 90 minutes ago. Game. Set. Match.
I stood in a room. Complete with disco floor.
Optics were in full swing.
Mind full of desire.
I left. Time constraints. Though the males rang my bell.
I'm charged. Electrically, sensually, the wind rips through my fascinator.
I was his.
I want to be, still.
A policeman once dropped tea on my back. Scalded me.
That tea contained milk.
There's no chalk in this.
Plate, I offer. It's nibbled at & discarded.
Filo is not what I'd envisioned.