Silence stretches between us,

his hands and eyes locked

under the table

texting his mates.


The waiter lights a candle,

pushes it between us.

The wax melts

then congeals like blood.


He snaps his mobile shut.

Looking at my chest he says,

‘I’ve got to go, it’s late.’

I watch his coat march out.


Chips cool on his plate.

My skin burns.

On our first date

the bill remains unpaid.



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