His excuse was plausible enough.
That old, rusted Buick had stalled
on the interstate until a Good Samaritan
had stopped and helped him out.
His kiss was soft enough.
The sweet smell of whiskey hadn't
tainted his tongue and seeped into
his sweat-soaked work shirt.
Her heart was open enough.
She willingly fell into his arms and
into bed, but wondered if that Good Samaritan
had been wearing lipstick.
