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.

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