Under the glare of warehouse light steel-eyed commerce crisscrossing vaulted space above while below we, in well-trammeled lanes, forage with brandished carts loaded, swallow claustrophobic desire stretch Ali Baba eyes to needful things as La-Z-Boys race past iWant-slick bling-gadgetry — only to be stared down by a winged unicorn: unflurried pinkness, nestled wonder in small chubby arms.
“Am I loved?” she asked wonderingly, throwing back hair, sultry under silken shawl scrutinizing her groomed shimmering form. He walked glancingly past a mirror then stopped to take a more admiring look. “Darling?” Reluctantly she turned from her reflection against the dark sky; he tore himself from his dashing figure. “How asinine, dear heart,” he ejaculated. “To love oneself is most divine!” Embracing by mirror and window they stood, idols with eyes of glass.
Jude's The Saturday Symphony #14: "Romance"
Sammi'sWeekend Writing Prompt: use "Asinine" in prose or poem with exactly 74 wordsCyranny's Word of the Day Challenge: "sultry"