Poem: sit quietly at that dining table

6 inklings - saturday

sit quietly at that dining table
and stare down at the champagne rings
those half (glasses pressed)
air imprisoned in the concave globes
a chest that’s hard of breathing
a soft lilting sigh

and there you sit
opposite –
at the dining table ever so silently
and glance at her, occasionally,
a bubble here and there of her
an image of the brandished popped cork
stirring in the surface
a recollection of her
an earthly thing
the flotsam curling round the corners
of an empty treasure chest
and grasping to the table’s edge
with your white-knuckled hands
you forbid her to

escaping the notice of the pair at the dining table
the sheepish eyes wander
up and down the gaping bedroom door
a nomad’s stubborn trail
clasping at the torso of striped pajamas
and comforting play things
a pair of feet curled tight to the floorboards
two in the morning
hazed in a moth-eaten stupor
a mermaid’s kiss
a small pocket of sanity
a small pocket buried in the throat
as he watches him and
left hand clasped at the bottom her chair
her index finger on the trigger.

– cumuloq ❤


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