Alberto, Wake Up!

I see you walking, swaying sweetly, delightfully with a pinch of erotic gentility as if you were shrouded in a transparent cloud that appalesa people but detaches you from mortals unworthy of you.
The long‐limbed body wrapped in a suit that emphasizes your goddess features: narrow waist, knee‐length skirts, discreet make‐up, staring gaze that flies over people, inscrutable, inaccessible, far from everyone.
The bag under the arm, the little dog hoeing to the side, looks masculine admiration not rewarded with smiles of complacency, icy.
Sometimes deliberately you do not tricks, coquetry to show that, even in the natural, you're always beautiful, just a cap or a scarf to make you look different.
Knowing your schedules I follow you, a suffering.
I brave my mind to invent a plausible foothold to talk to you, I dress elegantly but soberly as I think it is to your liking, even if you noticed me you did not give it to see.
You stop in front of the shop windows, of course the luxury ones, but I do not find any excuse to stand before an emporium with clothes exclusively for women and I turn away disconsolate.
One thing I have observed: parking always in a no parking, on the return remove from the windshield of Jaguar the leaflet of the contravention letting it fall to the ground carelessly.
When I dream of you I dare not imagine you in erotic positions, I settle for light kisses on the face and neck, I do not even remotely slip out the nightgown, you are too elegant to implement unbecoming behavior.
The end of this story? One day walking in front of me a magazine falls from his hands, I pick it up and hand it to him with a shy smile ...
"'Dummy, I know for months that I come along, what the fuck were you waiting for?"
Alberto you've been a dummy, for two months ...