tonic water hipbones

We sit on too-low barstools.
Concocting dream speeches and ideal moments to toss out, chewed
and scrappy on the sticky bar
pooling in clumps among the beer rings
and scampi fries.

She is waiting for some epiphany of thought
her eyes scurrying round the room,
seeking twitching idiosyncrasies to steal and weave
into her monologue
the wonderous tale of our lives.

She is trying, desperately, to appear interesting
her hands noisy in their head-high gestures,
vital,
body juddering with certainty and the third vodka lemonade of the evening.
thoughts sparkle briefly, fissure and die, lost in looped jukebox noises
and thick cigarettes
they leap frantically from her lips, then
- moths at Christmas time -
batter confused at a million shiny lights

I would like to make her stop
smudge fingers on her lips and explain
the true pleasures of her company:
the tinfoil shiny smiles
tonic water hipbones, glowing in uv
and those cheap cracker toy eyes

But I swallow my lips, knowing she would not appreciate
ruminations on her ass
and grinning body.
So she continues to speak, wave fingers, concentrate
spilling puddles of inanity
in the smoke plume air.