Outside the Party
Late.
From the terrace,
sheared grass stretches,
gray and undefined, into
a galaxy of stars. A cool
breeze carries the scent of
seaweed from beyond
the woods. Behind her,
a door opens, releasing
the music, then subduing it
again with a soft click
of the latch. She does not turn,
but listens to the languid
pattern of his pace as he
crosses the flagstones to
the pitted concrete balustrade
that abrades her elbows.
A hushed scrape, a flare,
a dim crackling as a glowing
cigarette tip answers
the inquiry of his breath.
A sigh. The horizon
holds her eyes, drawing his
from her ice-pale face,
which glimmers. Like
snakes charmed from
their low, fat baskets, two
blue columns of smoke
meet, hesitate, and then
begin a spiraling, ascending
pas de deux.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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