Sunday, January 25, 2015


He clicks the ball-point closed,
raises his bleary-eyes, blinks
inside the mellow ambiance,
folds the napkin, slides it across
the heavily shellacked bar
where her French-tipped
fingers press its corner, lift it
for a look before glancing
around the room and tucking
it safely inside the long dark
shadow of her blouse.

Alba - Winter 2015

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