Restaurant

Restaurant


pop open a bottle of champagne and drink in

the mingling of emotions,
broken souls complementing.
the washing away of defenses
vulnerable souls bubbling.

she couldn’t discern back then
what kind of foodie had taken a table to himself

sipping hot soups of butterflies
and gnawing on insecurities,
draining her of all she had to offer on her menu

leaving no scraps left to salvage
on the tabletop bearing fork scratches
and raised rings from the cold condensation
droplets pooling around a tall glass

she fell ill with malnutrition
lying in the dusty corners of his mind
a translucent sack of bones,
still hoping for the rating of five stars that will never arrive

Vanessa Chan