Three of us, subtly lit in the flit
of a candle flame. One bottle
of hemp seed beer, chased down
and around the table by ontologies
on love, lust, and betrayal in a blackout.

He is young yet, disquieted.
A query in the dark is imminent.
His innocence irradiates the night
in place of wayward electricity –
Why do so many marriages disintegrate?

I defer to you, entertain the explanation:
wooden blocks of discontentment become
resentment; ennui forces one heart to rupture
and fall against the next -- accountability
dispensed with by pointing a finger
at the Domino Theory.

He takes this under advisement; you smoke;
I pour candle wax over my hand. One pain
fits all. You bring me a piece of ice. Lights flare.
The real wonder is so many of them don’t, I dare,
the flicker before the bulb in a lamp explodes.