Martini on the Platform
His eyes fell from her, and his tongue curled
from his lips to clutch the things he'd never say,
to trace them as golden etchings of a hoarded treasure.
His hands craved to carry cup-fulls of her scent,
collected by intimate crawls across her parchment scroll
belly as she rolled it against him.
But the unforgiving swirl of dust at his feet,
where truth and infidelity met
for a clandestine midnight departure
filled his fists instead
with the stench of vermouth and leather.