| We smoke on the patio, heated only by our instant chatter - witticisms run like springs, I think you see the flaws but talk as if you’re blind to them - so I exhale dishonesty between eye contact and grey smoke. Draining glasses crammed with half crushed ice, we laugh like co-conspirators in the heat of the bar - the evening tumbles into morning, we stand kissing witnessed only by the cat still painting the town - bed beckons tired feet, giddy heads, infused with alchemy of ethanol. Sonia Isaac-Hendy |
If you have any comments on this poem, Sonia Isaac-Hendy would be
pleased to
hear them.
