smoke signals

 

The coffee pot’s down

to grounds and dregs,

the cognac bottle’s

now the worse for wear.

He counts each crossing of the legs

each slow blink,

approving laugh;

tests the warmth of every smile,

notes each surreptitious lick of lip;

decodes the semaphore

of each flick of hair.

 

She feels the hours grow smaller,

sees the pacing  wolf behind his eyes,

mirrors every movement,

hears the hammer of his pulse.

They’ve emptied dictionaries tonight -

lives, loves and memories ankle deep -

no words remain,

no secrets left to keep.

As Sade sings of sweet taboos

there’s just one thing

that’s left

to lose.

 

 They

tiptoe,

 barefoot,

on

the

razor’s

 edge.

 

He stands, perhaps to leave,

perhaps to catch her unawares.

This is the balance point

of stay –

or go.

With the weight

of two matched heartbeats

the scales are tipped.

She puts a finger to his lips

a hand on his

and  leads him

onwards

up the stairs.

 

No exit, no way back.

A page turns

with the crisp white sheet,

as innocence

steps into the night

to hail the last cab on the street.

 

 

to ashes

 

Neither one is late today

although there’s little left to prove.

Here in this no man’s land,

this dead café,

they move towards

uneasy armistice.

 

In armoured vest

and razor-wire shirt

they navigate their loss,

their hurt,

through seas

of disappointment

and regret;

exchange  the keys

of  landlocked hearts.

 

Weak tea grows cold

in silences

Espresso, bitter, black

is stirred

with memories

old before their time.

 

There is no fond farewell,

no parting kiss -

just slow tearing

of the heart.

They slip the moorings,

 drift apart

and turn their collars

 to the wind.

With melting sight

and leaden feet

they disappear into a distance,

and limp towards Tomorrow Road

by way of Desolation Street.