to me? The thick cherry
gloss is brushed on her cracked
lips. Bent over the table she slips
on the dangling conversation

wearing a red pencil smile drawn
on from this morning. She takes
a heavy breath from her burning
cigarette. We look like two

silhouettes against the
paisley prints covering the walls
behind the smoke screen. I nod
as if listening, while sipping

***** and lime, and eying
my cell for the time. And my head
is on the ceiling that's peeling
like layers of an onion, dangling

like the conversation, but not breaking
off. She streaks the glass, leaving an
imprint with her mouth. I hail the waiter
for the check, so I can check out.