Melanconia Fiorentina

Just before the bus got crowded, she hopped on and began to adjust her denim cut-off daisy dukes; which are as prevalent in Europe as they are in the States. This slender Florentine had brown hair and fair skin and acknowledged me with her big beautiful blue eyes. Her lips, which were full and clad with a natural coral hue, remained motionless as she coyly dissected me with her eyes. I wondered what she was asking herself as she meticulously scanned my countenance. “Who is this guy? I’ve never seen him take this bus before. Is he Italian?” At the very least, I hoped that my presence in that bus aroused some sort of curiosity in her.

After her gaze left my face, I began to look at her from head to toe. I wanted to memorize every single physical detail about her. As a sort of souvenir. More than merely trying to remember what she was wearing, which I forgot the very moment I saw her, I was trying to analyze and mental-photographically capture the contours of her delicate body her long milky white legs, her soft yet angular hip bone peeking out from between her shorts and blouse.

As I was voyeuristically admiring this beautiful daughter of Italy, she was drinking out of a travel-size ‘estaTHE’ (the Italian version of Honest Tea), taking a sip of that sweet nectar with those tender lips every couple of minutes. What I wouldn’t give for my lips to be that lucky straw for a second. I noticed that she was biting the tiny straw protruding from the cup. Was it out of nervousness caused by my gaze?

All of my ocular advances did not go unrequited as she finally looked at me head on, eye to eye. We were like two gunslingers with hands hovering over their weapons ready to kill each other. The time had come to make my move, my final thrust for the win. I looked at her and gave her a shy little smile to show my interest. She smiled back. As she looked away, so did I. I let a few minutes pass to stoke the fire a bit. Again, we locked eyes and this time I gave her a bigger smile just to let her know that the previous one wasn’t by accident or out of politeness. The look that she gave me in response was so full of sensuousness that it made my stomach drop. That look had prowess behind it and beckoned me over as if asking “What else do you have under your sleeve?”

The bus suddenly stopped and she hopped out. I was left feeling empty inside like someone who wanted more without having had any in the first place. I was jealous of the person who would get to kiss those coral-hued fleshy lips and enjoy her Tuscan beauty. Now all I have is a memory of her face, a face I will force my mind never to forget.

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