half her face is lit
that half furthest from his back
light weighs on his shoulders
curls them inwards
away from her
and the shadows she makes on the table
and that damned half-halo
limning a mirroring curve
and he's unaware
of how her cigarette's smoke
drifts up and away
to that high, narrow window,
its passionless stare
twinned downlighters
over him
over her
shaded thoughts
shaded faces
and though his nose and lips are
lined with light
his eyes are closed
the shadows are speaking
along with the light
listen, you'll hear them
the smokey stroke of ivory
shadows in a wordless voice
and on the table
fourset and square
the handbag
closed
makes shades of its own
she's all closed
arm closing him out
reflecting his angles
nicotine and alcohol mere props in this composition
beneath fingers of light
and shade
no black keys
he brings his own shadows
at least from this angle
as her legs are angled
towards him but crossed
they deny him
she denies all of him
curtains her thoughts
and he is a curved closed shield
tender neck exposed
two chairs:
a dark gap yearns between one and the
light that still spills
on a table top
while the chair at her table
empty as empty can be
as if it's been empty a long time
no-one welcome in that chair
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