your heart beat to the rhythm
of Russian phrase;
And the headlights of cars passed outside the window,
Against the dying light of day.
I smelt myself,
Perfume and cigarettes,
Wooden in scent
and in attitude.
I watched you stare,
your blonde curls against the seat,
and slightly warped as my head twirled, waltzing against the walls.
I remained estranged in a foreign room
of foreign tongue,
with only the sway of leaves outside the window
And a wet pansy,
drenched in alcohol,
To keep me company.