Girl with the Gypsy Earring
In her hair she wears a braid;
tied tight around her waist –
an apron made from lace,
as she stands shaping pizzas.
In her lunch-break – we walk;
I take a drag of her Gitane Brun,
and whisper, "Talk dirty to me."
Tells me, she’ll catch me later.
She deseeds juicy, plum tomatoes;
seasons spaghetti with oregano,
fresh chopped on a bamboo board
then drizzles it from her palm.
In topaz glow of a Tiffany lamp,
takes off her clothes, nice and slow,
as she goes down on me; her skin,
smells of roses and distant thunder.