Who Needs Tomorrow?

He bought her a drink.
That's how it always starts.
A Vesper martini,
Her favourite,
Placed down in front of her.
She looks up at the barman,
Who gestures down the line.
A man with glinting chocolate eyes.
They swallow up the light.
His smile an addiction,
Intoxicant,
Infection.
Her own smile beckons.
How did you know?
That, love, would be telling.
But I can see it in your eyes.
A sip of lemon and gin
As her eyes examine his.
Then, Amaretto screwdriver.
Such talent, he says.
She blushes and laughs.

From there, a foregone conclusion.
Discussions fuelled by drink:
The way to truly live,
The touch of destiny,
The mysteries of the universe.
A hand on his arm,
Fingers in her hair,
Lips on his neck,
Kisses behind her ear.
Words entwine and harmonise, then limbs.
And when it's over, she rests in his arms,
Satisfied in body, heart, and mind.
A single salty drop on his pillow,
For swiftly comes the morning sun
To kill her perfect night.