Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Spirits

She sips 2004 Dom Perignon with flair,
while she talks, like a well-oiled machine,
of Cialis, Kardashians, his Waterloo,
but in her eyes, loneliness in rivers,
locked-up fears, and deepening nostalgia
and she flutters her eyelids.

Between us fences we hedge,
islands of silence, redeemed jungles,
my unruffled nods, and inimitable swing
as I slurp Arnold Palmer
resolved to never flutter my eyelids
while she is Dom Perignoned.

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Prompt: a fence, wall, or stile