temptation

you kiss him good bye, smiling. he is not smiling. you walk away, to make him leave sooner, because his nearness is inhibition. you're walking towards the evening-heavy door with music, sound, breath and the warm light of the clink of glasses on the other side. there could be a hundred people here, or three, but it's equally delicious with the thought of someone new and interesting to stumble through the alleyways at four in the morning with, laughing at cracks in the pavement and coaxing the last drops out of a champagne bottle cooing insistently.

A figure at the door raises a hand, calls your name. it's the first wave of the envelope.

the walk from the side of the road to the door is the easiest, even if it is the longest.