Laetitia

I wonder when she began to purpurate her lips like that...
I simply cannot imagine her with the natural pinky-beige.
My eyes are forced to lower when she notices my staring
She grins,
Gives me a small nod,
Tilts her black wool fedora with spunk I could only dream of.

I attempt to omit her potent presence
So that I may continue focusing on my work,
But it isn't long before the picking of the forest emerald nail enamel
The spinning of the chair
The furious typing,
(with the occasional pleased interjection)
Drags up my chin again
To look back up at Laetitia, who notices me once again.

With a flip of long blonde,
She grabs me by the arm,
And spins me around
With the most endearing laugh imaginable.
Obviously intoxicated.
But that's not the point.

I envy her intense joy,
Her immoderate likeability,
And I appreciate every moment I am blessed with her presence.