Bar Stools

He withdrew a cigarette

and I was sunk

placed it in his mouth

so that it perched

heavy on his lower lip

like an unspoken curse

and cast his hooded stare

in my general direction

one hand resting

on the chipped up bar

the other in his pocket


it was pretty much decided

I’ve always been a sucker

for overt masculinity

half standing half leaning

on scratched bar stools

clad in dusty leather and 

gently creased denim

thrown on with

what looks like

next to no thought

dark hair askew on the scalp

so that he has to push it away

as we lock eyes

over our sweating drinks

that’ll just about do it

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