Creamy, foamy, and steamy, with a flirtatious sprinkle of cinnamon and vanilla, the mug of latte, with a signature that says ‘coffee break’, in front of me is begging to be sipped.
The latte looks back with an appealing round face, spilling over the rims of the white mug, asking to be swallowed down the dark and lonely tunnel of my thirsty throat.
As much as I felt sultry and sensual that night, with the strings of my slinky blouse threatening to slip, showing off a sexy dragonfly tattooed shoulder, my latte is just about the only warm and liquid thing I will kiss and lick and suck tonight. The only object of desire I would swallow, under this starless, moonless, cloudless and winter sky.
Tonight, I am looking for angels in this City of Angels they call Bangkok or Krungthep, land of a thousand smiles. And yet, it doesn’t feel like winter, nor are there any angels on this street.
Read more at the Writers Connect, story of the week!
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