Sugar Bowl

In the hushed hotel solarium, he tosses his big talk
in tiny nuggets of nicety, his sibilants snagging
in potted ferns. He drops words in her cocked ear
as so many sugar cubes into strong coffee, each lump
losing shape at the slight sound of a surface broken.
His persuasion subtle as heavy cream
insinuating beige into brewed blackness.
He gently puffs the pastry of woo with sweet nothings
and no matter, catches the flutter of her eye
as the cutlery neatly clatters. Certain Malaysian rat snakes
are known to crane so at the mouths of caves they haunt,
leaning toward the finicky winged panic of bats
careening past into dim forests. Albino-scaled cave racers
dangling from limestone ledges: anglers working
the rods of their bodies until some fist-sized nugget
of clicking warm fur flaps smack
into the wrong place and time. Just so cranes this beau
at the linen-dressed table with its unpolished silver
and empty champagne flutes. He feeds his lines,
working his angle, swaying slightly with the itch
in his armpits and crotch. A nervous tick in the coffee talk,
he nibbles the corners of his your lovely smile’s.
At his last lukewarm bon mot, she flicks her brown bangs
aslant the shaft of sunlight, and he seizes her fine-boned hand
just as it reaches the rim of the white china sugar bowl.

Published On
: June 30, 2009
Permanent Location:





Volume 4, Issue 15
July 1, 2009

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1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6


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