His fingers,
     Soft in their desire
To trace the many circles
     Of her new hunger,
Drum against the bar table
     Of first date convention.

She angles and agitates
     In nicotine distraction.
Speaking meanders
     Between the borders
Of their twenty-eight
     Separate years of damage.

Everything is password
     And counter-sign.
The rush of being sexy, close fails
     To break their isolation,
And they part with promises and lies
     Into the night.