Whenever you stayed in that hotel you used to text me pictures of Chloe.
The painting had pride of place in the bar - a naked nymph in all her glory,
chestnut hair piled in a soft bun on her head,
pale skin pearlescent and radiant under the glow of lights.
She was an enigma. A temptation. A contradiction.
Vulnerable yet self assured.
The pics you sent didn't do her justice.
Still, she was utterly breathtaking, even in 2D.
Chloe must have won many a punter's heart as they drank and gazed upon her beauty.
I noticed the artist had captured her turning her head away.
I wondered - was it shame, disinterest, or playfulness that kept her gaze askew?
Chloe also made me wonder what you thought as you sat alone in the bar, tie loosened, drinking late into the night.
Did she make you dream of kissing me?
Was it shame, disinterest or playfulness that stopped you revealing your desires?
I fear I'll never know.
Only Chloe can tell.