A Bare Bedroom With Two People.

Twenty and afraid of silences,

I chat mindless babble

when scanning your book-shelves
for clues of you – a comment
for every single one.

I sip rum laced with ginger ale;
we will sit and drink, wait until
one half gives in.

This isn’t when the room stands still,
or when music starts as time stops.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks,
and removes the glass from my hand.

These are those invisible drinking cords
that fasten us together after
a few too many.

I don’t know you that well –
so I sit and talk.

I play with one button on my cardigan
that’s come away, and hangs there
on its thread -