Interrogation

Unfocussed, my eyes
close again but not
without a brush of
vertigo. A hint of smoke
--a match? a cigarette?---
tells me I'm not alone, but
reopening one eye shows me
nothing but an inverted boot

tapping an impatient counterpoint
to the soft whine the nylon makes
with every intake of breath--still
curiously cool and reassuring
with the remnants of juleps and
aspic from our meal together,

Can you have a Last Supper attended
by only two instead of thirteen? No matter,
I relax, letting my body settle into
gravity's palm and awaiting round two,
feeling sweat and tears
evaporating