Sipping Sangria
As we drink down the white wine sangria
between our lips and our sips,
a broken stream of words.
“It’s not that I’m not tempted,”
she said
“and I don’t want to offend you.”
She took my hand briefly,
to show no offence
was intended.
I held on to hers.
Then we walked in silence
for quite a long way
enveloped in the dark night.
Hand in hand.
Quiet footsteps
that didn’t break the silence.
She looked up at me and smiled.
I smiled back.
Or was I the first to smile
and she smiled back?
I don’t remember.
It doesn’t matter,
but we still don’t remember
as we smile afresh
drinking down our white wine sangria.
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