Imaginary Heartbeats

People nothing but people
on either side of the room and mainly clustered round
speakers in cacophonous flocks.

Dull eyes hide behind shadows and shades and blue-red
glasses of wine as they waste tobacco on false lashes and
promising looks.

Bits of burnt rizla flake and fall
onto the Persian rug and

I retreat into Johnny’s kitchen
shovelling dips, counting stacks of cheese.

A shield from boys with peach fuzz chests and girls
with nipples that perk and point through ironed hair.

Who is the self-satisfied blonde? I ask, feigning disgust
his knit-wear is only out-woolled by yellow curls
that bounce around his ears and then

he looks at me with chough black eyes
I am funnelled into
his line of sight.

I feel my clothes fall apart around my feet
in nudity we meet, dancing in marsh mellow snow
that we catch between our teeth

but –

he kisses Johnny on the lips
and strokes his thigh, a pewter gleam dots his eye

and I
run outside to strike a match
an exhale

another night.