They sat at the booth—leather clad couches, dark wood paneling, and soft jazz music floating in the air

She: (offering her most exquisite profile—sucked in cheeks, puckered lips, just gently holding the cigarette in its place) aren’t you going to light it? (it wasn’t a question nor a demand, somewhere between the two and beyond them both at the same time)

He: (obviously fumbling, lights the cigarette)

The thing about goddesses is that they can easily kill decent living mortals with even their most banal gestures.

she must be swift and white

And subtly warm, and half perverse

And sweet like sharp soft fruit to bite

And like a snake’s love lithe and fierce