Sunday Sonnet, #23, 2016


[Image from Pinterest]

Top lip beaded with sweat, she sips the drink,

ice-filled and chinking against glass – the last

of the evening.  Or should be, she knows, past

experience having taught her to think

and not accept invitation to drink

a little longer; stay.  Finger on glass

traces condensation, time to pause (grass

so green beneath her naked feet).  For ink,

to write down the pros and cons for staying,

saying yes, and tumbling down rabbit holes

of nocturnal adventure..!  But – praying

she’d find strength to decline – to stay, playing

the dangerous game, would not end well.  Hell,

only one life.  Brow raised, she swirls the ice.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]