Boredom breeds disdain
for mindless chatter.
I seek a diversion,
adopt tactical manoeuvres,
glide past the maddening soiree.
Now, smiling softly,
eyes a -twinkle,
I shuffle daintily,
as in the distance,
the French glass panes beckon.
Freedom, YOU are much adored.
But wait, I cannot deceive YOU.
Traipsing along beyond pregnant tables
overflowing with succulent cuisine,
gastronomic delights, tomorrow’s Page 3.
I quickly dart behind the brocade drapes,
presumably for a breath of night air
or a glimpse of the glimmering lights below.
Inhale gently, lips open ever so slightly, inhale –
swirl the lemon roundels in my tall glass
of crushed juniper berries
and liquid Indian quinine,
But, hush, hush,
no one must know my heart’s desire
Covertly yearned, my Lust For second-hand smoke!
