Drinking in

The colour of night

Hot

With cream and sugar

And midnight oil

To burn

Deep

Into the hazy hours

Of sleepless dreams

While, "Hey Jude,' is playing

And the clink of quarters

Is worth

The cooing mannerisms

Of your favourite waiter.

Coming in

cold rain

Sleek against the throat and hair

melting sun

being squeezed into your cup

While Bohemia

Rises

From the sipping heat

Of distilled extremities

And the shadows lay themselves down by the light

of candles lit,

and stories dance up like fragrant smoke

a ghostly caravan of our minds

strutting out for an appearance,

immaculately clothed in words

that flow against the beautiful bodies

like the stream of

silken scarves

from a magician's pocket.