I arrive when the bottle's half gone
- she on a table at the back on her own -
sketching aquarius outpouring
- in waxing profile she is the moon
as I pass through the beards of the room -
she winces a smile as a greeting
and her bracelet catches the light
we touch fingertips - for tonight
we neither come nor go - invested
as we are there is no place to run -
in apology I show interest
in her sketch and she thanks me
politely - dismisses it as a bit of fun -
drains her glass of chianti
The Blue Book
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