DINNER FOR TWO

They were alone in the restaurant.

Night had barely crawled through the shrubs

of the municipal park around them,

a great slug sticking to every blade of grass.

A hand with a lighter lit their candle.

‘Everything comes with a Greek salad,’ he explained,

watching the light that oscillated

in the benighted blond of her hair.

‘Xifias,’ she nodded, ‘marinated sword-fish kebabs

served with a Greek salad.’

A bottleneck glugged its Merlot

into his glass (wanted to wait: he shook his head),

and into hers.

Two flames in pupils danced.

‘Lamb kebabs served with chef’s potatoes

and a Greek salad.’

The voice, low and musical,

sang from its hymn sheet.

‘Paleometokhon lamb flambé with Grand Marnier,

served with a Greek salad.’

The Merlot was slightly acid;

the char-grilled lamb warmed the Greek salad

which cooled the lamb

until their passion became tepid.

A tiramisu and a vanilla mousse

bound the bowels of their compassion;

the bill froze them.