While We Drink

I eye the white rose
I gave her on the table
while we sip wine,
wondering how deep,
dark, fast, to fall
retreat when
taken aback
between tentative
laughs to half truths.
Enjoying our
hipster masquerade
enough to exchange
our carefully constructed
paper mache thin masks.
Yet aware of
the odds of this
becoming
anything
more than diversion
which increase subtract
with each refilled
empty glass.
I do like how
she keeps saying, so what?
Before what seems
a half open half closed
door she dares twirl
me the keys to ... maybe.
Honestly,
whatever her intent
trivial jokes
linear compliments
invent new
openings as
we dance with sidesteps
avoiding the floor.
Ordering more wine,
As I wonder how impaired judgment
will serve us this time.