Tibi

Hands of Fate on Saturday Nights

His eyes looked almost inappropriate
inside intoxicated frame

Too big too brown too lost

He smelled of lust
testosterones and overpriced champagne
He spoke of love and loss

He spoke of books
love in the books
love in that pulsing spinning place
that sold cheap lies
expensive smiles and looks

He felt my hips and whispered: stay

I sometimes think how yes or no shape fate