When her nails click on the table top, I think she’s angry,
though at times when I look up into her eyes, she seems calculating.
All this might be wrong.
But each time we come to the same place at the same time, I
check out her fingernails,
whether they were
polished or not, what color they are, do they match the color of her lips.
The brighter the color of lips and fingernails tells me she
must be horny, other colors mean other things much like a mood ring.
They are darkest in a bad way when she looks at me.
I recall her nails being blood red those few times we dated,
a color she long ago abandoned, except when around other men in our office who
I think she’d like to date. It drives me wild to think about, even if none of
it is true.
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