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circling the banquet hall with corked eyes and dampened handkerchiefs,

meeting the frostbitten stare of prestiges and plus ones,

left arm unclad with a guest of honour to call your own.

partaking in musical chair vacancies;

"have I been reposed in your assigned seat?

I apologise for casting aside your name placard."

withdraw a pocket clutched love profession

under the guise of a sonnet

enveloped in serviettes and transported on wingless courier doves.

you watch his eyes over the incarnadine blush,

freighted with apprehension...

forestalled by his inamorata,

the vision of he is bewitched to reflect only she,

inebriated from second helpings of strawberry wine lips

pouring their way into his flute,

accursed on limp-wristed frivolities.

lipstick stains on the brim mark a sign-off in my absence.

I pose the question:

can there be love at the expense of another's heartbreak?

I have no pennies for complacency.

hand-holding becomes a sister to heartache;

squeezing every so often to remind you of its presence.