what becomes of them

the red napkin, the soup
her nervous nail polish
tapping the marble table

her insulted mouth
closing on lasagne and salad

the chilled dew of chablis
on her peach coloured lips

her sceptical shoulders
when she speaks

and her skin
shimmering resentment
when he speaks

what becomes of them
when the table is cleared
and she leaves to invent
a life without miracles

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