An Old Dance

by Luke Otley

Lucidly, he whispers nothings as sweet as the coke you mix with rum

Glancing at her lips, chapped, his thoughts float forward to when the evening’s done

To later, when she’ll likely cater to his every wish

Providing he doesn’t spoil this delicate dish with

Clumsy errors

See, his logic holds large holes like the pores of his nose,

But she sits silently unseeing, blinded by his apparent freedom

and aching for anything, anyone, to bring a change.