It is a tremor of a smile, a flicker or a whisper of a grin that I begrudgingly offer up to you from across the table. Honey blonde and yellow lights flood my senses. I sneak a look at you: harsh white brights tattooed across your nose and the tops of your cheeks (freckles act as mirrors of intensity.) And we skid across the floor leaving wax marks like bicycle tires on the tiles. You're alight, it's to-night, I'm skipping and tripping and laughing and dancing: you catch me unaware. A giggle, double personality emerges, no red-rimmed eyes for me. Midnight coasts and floats closer. I look around; I want your eyes to match mine like a pair of hearts…

but all I see are broken crayons.