Under the fluorescent lights,
she takes him
through the details of the report,
but he is undone
by her scent
and thinks, instead,
of them as one, his lips
on hers, silencing
the banality of profit peaks and dips;
of her sensible shoes carelessly
discarded in a tell-tale trail;
of liberating her
chastised fireball hair
into a cascading
mess across his chest;
of her  scent, illicit, on his thighs…
“Do you have any questions?”
He sighs ,
“Sorry, can you repeat that. I was distracted by the cost blowout in the 3^rd quarter.”

Under the flourescent lights,
his devil-dark eyes
intoxicate her, the arousing effects
of his easy smile
and casual wearing of perfect clothes,
undiminished In the rude glare,
but, she knows
dreams of them are hopeless; he barely
notices her when they meet;
he isn’t even listening now as she speaks:
“Do you have any questions?”