Stumbling through sleep-drenched night,
and hushing girlish laugher sparked by
drinks and cigarettes shared by neon light,
he lets dress shoes hit the bottom step.
Hands fumble over bodies and glide on clock’s face -
merciless reminder of night’s heavy wings
that cloak the path to bedroom in shadowed grace
and deepen the red of the imitation silk now on the stair.
Torsos find each other. Inhaling. Exhaling.
Breathing consciously to convince himself
that all is well - this night is not a failing,
that this woman’s arms will hold him the same.
He wipes the deep crease across his brow.
He does not miss the other girl
with long hair and pastel morning eyes. Now,
now there is an intoxicated lover waiting.