Conversation lulls into obscurity
When a night time hush of drunk pop music
And giddy youths with plastic cups
Litter a mezzanine under the stars.
A frond of hair tumbles nonchalantly on her face.
Cautious fingers as he tries to brush it away, to lean in closer.
Breathing in the musk of a perfume applied five hours earlier
That is still clinging, its base note on the nape of her neck.
The monach butterfly, the end of the scent toils with her sweat.
Over-exuberant, he bites her lip when they embrace.
Her eyes open momentarily, with hands grasping his shirt
He whispers in her ear: "let's go to your place".
Hands laced tighter than Breton fabric,
There is almost a spring in their step:
All the while, people tumble from their late revelry.
Fishing around for keys becomes a desperate business -
He enters like a thief in a covert operation.
They tangle, warm skin and awkward breaths
Not quite accustomed to each other
Though whoever expected mouths to curl
Like synchronized swimmers?
Now - the tip of a finger running along
The edges of a midnight flower:
Recently nipped in the bud.
Palms begin to perspire
As they grasp desperately at virility.
As a raven outside begins its lonely caw
The hazy features of dawn arrive
All the while, bodily juices dwindle
Down lips.
They lie in each other's essence
Drowsy but upon the pitfall of sleep
Imagine they are in another's arms.
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