And do you think that love itself,
Living in such an ugly house,
Can prosper long? ¬- Edna St Vincent Millay

The ring of red on the coaster dries
I taste your robust Shiraz
so your blood can break my bread.
My lips leave a mark on your glass.

I flatter the guests,
fret about the salt in the stew,
Husband will not look at me.
He knows, he knows it’s you.

Across the table, you touch my lip-print.
circle the length of my smile
from the centre to the corners.
fingering every grove.

I want to reach for you
above the shaken salt,
press your palm into mine
but no, this is not the time.

The wine sours in my mouth
when reach for your coat.
Soon, you will leave me by the door,
stroking your kiss and wanting more.