Paean

A woman on the subway. Or in a coffee shop. Wherever she was, I saw her.

Two women on the subway, described in the only way I know how.

A woman at a bar, described in the only way I know how.

A woman on the train, reading the Economist.

The tops of her thigh-high fishnets keep drawing my eyes back.

Black hair, brown highlights, a denim minidress, and generous decolletage.

She was standing right there, and I couldn’t not look.

She’s all in black, with lavender lips, and she won’t look at me.

She looks sad.

Imperfection can be hot.