Out to Dinner (A Tragedy)

(I)

He dreams of one
with flushed cheeks
smiling eyes
and moist
parted lips

(the mark on her forehead exuding vigour)

laying by his side
gazing deep
and making love
to the greater understanding
between them

Before the call.
Before the fall.
Before joining his lover
out to dinner
once more.


(II)

She was indeed pretty.
Full of charm
and grace
and good humor

enjoyed by all.

But he,
who recently awoke from reverie
felt pressed
by something artificial
about reality.

A smile
a comment.

An equal gaze,
the correct response.

Drowning in artificiality.

He senses himself sinking
along with her
as they sipped on herbal tea
which no one truly liked.

Perhaps it was merely a passing phase.

Melancholy brought on
through time passed
in reflecting inwards.

(A side-long glance, much unappreciated by her)

Perhaps not.


(III)

She was indeed pretty.
And charming
and dull
in her singular paradoxical state
of joy and sadness

as deemed worthy of the moment
by her.

Food arrives
with a revelation
of her simple-minded selfishness
in acting so,
in being so.

No sooner thought, than spurned.
Pushed away with guilt
at the cruelty of truth
never to be mentioned.

For heaven knows
he chose her

(the single child)
to do the obvious
rather than wait

perchance to meet,
to dream of the other
who waits for a break during dessert

to smile in the mind's eye.