String of pearls


She strings  each thought around her tongue 

in a string of pearlescent quietude

until she is quite afraid the silk  around the neck of an utterance will slip

and she will say something she ought not and 

then it will be her and  

her words

and him 

staring at the flood of whispery truths spilling 

splashing and scattering about their white table cloth 

like blushing pink wine stains  rolling around

looking for a place to settle 

 dripping over the sides of their table 

bouncing off 

her glass slippers

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