Are we having fun yet?

I don’t know how to behave, she says
white linen napkin in her lap
red lipstick on the rim of her glass

I don’t know how to filter my thoughts, he says
a conversation in the back of his mind
noting the temperature of her pending ignition

I don’t know how these things go, she thinks
his fingers stroking her hot palms
and her tongue navigating his lower lip

I don’t know where this is going, he thinks
and fickle paths are rerouted
to accommodate his recurring past