Flowers and Filthy Poetry

5. Bits of paper

I decided to open the shop a bit early today and get some cleaning done. I hadn't bothered with the corners and had up until now only dusted the front area where most people walked about.

I looked at the dusty gramophone and wondered if I should let it be, after all it was known to me as the 'dusty gramophone.'

Just as I tried to shift the lamp I was roughly whirled around to come face to face with Francis.

"Hello." He purred making my knees all weak and wobbly.

"What's this?" He asked looking at   The dust pan I had in my hand

"Just tidying up the place."

"But no one sits here anymore." He said, putting me on the spot.
I had somewhat told him off the other day for spending all his time at this corner.

"I'm sorry about the other day, I was told not to let people stay in for too long...plus we weren't exactly the closest of friends back then."

"fRieNdS." Francis mocked, pulling a face.

He shoved a piece of paper into my hands, "what friends write you these kind of poems."

I was intrigued, he had actually taken my advice on the whole borrowed voice thing. I walked over to my table and unfolded the little bit of paper.

My eyes ran along his neat cursive letters before I found my self yelling.

"FRANCIS!"

"Yes love?" Came his reply from somewhere behind the shelves.

I stormed towards his voice and found him casually looking through the dystopian collection, "I'm looking for something similar to A Clockwork Orange." He had his back turned to me, paying me no mind.

"All this while in my bed for two alone I've suffered,
What are your thoughts on being buggered?!"

I read out of his poem.

"How'd you like it? Better than any of that French rot isn't it?" He said beaming at me.

I stood there, my jaw on the floor . "Were you robbed of your childhood? Is that why you're pulling this year 8 shit?"

"Did you not like it?" Francis pouted.

"I- I mean I-" it surely would help me get off tonight but he didn't have to know that.

"Is that all you've got?" I challenged as though I wasn't fazed in the slightest.

A cunning smile spread across his face as he made his way over to me. I was afraid my heart would beat right out my chest.

"Well I think I'll go home and better my writing skills then."

I grabbed his wrist before he could leave, "or you could stay here..." I drawled trying to maintain my composure.

"You soft Danny boy?" He cooed.

I let go of his wrist immediately, "Just needed a helping hand really." I was trying to convince myself more than anything.

"You don't even have to ask." He said softly, his arrogance slipping away.

I never understood how he could go from being a bastard to a sweetheart in the span of only a few seconds, both characters did things to me...the first one specifically to my lower regions.

Our fingers brushed for a few seconds before he grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way to the messy table.

He forced me down into my chair as he took the seat opposite to me.

"Tell me all about you." He smiled.

We went back and forth with our questions and I learnt quite a lot about Francis and I'm sure he learnt a lot about me as well.

The thing about Francis was that with him you could never be too sure. Apparently he took after both his mother and older brother.
His rugged looks were influenced by his brother who had introduced him to some super heavy music at a very young age and his love for literature and arts was to be credited to his mother.

I told him how I on the contrary couldn't stand loud music and didn't share the same interests when it came to reading and how I was forced into a sporty life by my footy crazed father.

We chatted for hours on end pausing to tend to customers who clearly didn't need any help.

It was time to close the shop and Francis offered to help. "I'll see you tomorrow yeah?" I said as I locked the doors.

"Will you though?" He replied with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Don't be like that, I tidied up your spot by the dusty gramophone." I shoved the keys into my trouser pockets.

"Why'd I want to sit there when I can sit at the table with a perfect view of this handsome face." He said smirking.

I rolled my eyes ignoring the fluttering of my heart.

***

The next morning Francis was here earlier than expected. He walked past me stuffing something into my back pocket, making me jump.

An elderly gentleman asked me for the pricing of a certain book before spending the next decade pulling out change from the numerous pockets of his fancy jacket.
I waited patiently, my fingers itching to unfold the bit of paper in my back pocket.

The elderly man soon paid the full sum and left the store with a dopey smile.

I quickly pulled out the piece of paper and read it's contents.

'The mere sight of your full lips
Makes my member twitch.'

"This has got to stop." I said half heartedly.

"You were so eager just seconds ago!" Francis laughed heartily.

He wasn't wrong, and no, I didn't want it to stop.
They weren't professional sure and they made me laugh if anything, but he wrote them and for me so I was going to hold onto it like my life depended on it.

I looked over at him as he sat so peacefully across from me, he shot me the most innocent smile I had seen on a grown man and went back to reading his book.

Francis was going to be the death of me.

Even with him just sitting there going about his day in the usual manner (i.e reading away to glory)
It felt nice to have him near, to know that if I felt lonely I could just look at him and he'd come up with some snide comment on the customers or shame them for their choice of literature.

At times he could be the bane of my existence but he'd make up for it with his sweet, sweet words and his messed up sense of humour.

That night as I lay in bed I pulled out the red book from under my pillow and replaced it's poetry with Francis' superior ones.