Brokered

Streetlights blooming 

on the arms of pink dogwoods

He twirls the glass

in his hand

reading snippets of words

Grey eyes traveling backwards

Away from the scrambled tables at the back

of the smoke-clotted diner

just the teasing door swinging in and out

unapologetic laughters leaning lazily against it

There she is

Just outside the frosted window

Her blonde hair

a loose towel around her shoulders

She taps

and writes on the glass:

The night is calling me

<3

He drizzles his drink carefully

over the overcooked potatoes

and dry meat

Much to the waitress's distress

ships the whole plate off