Fri, 14 August

ROUGE Ingredients: one winter, eight vessels, two hands mid-argument, a note nobody moved. Combine: the cold pressing in from the glass above with the amber that refuses it. Fold in: overlapping shadows, the tipped glass still tipping — it has been tipping all evening — the smear of something rich left on the edge of the plate the way a sentence trails off into laughter. Allow to rest: until the stars appear in the window like punctuation nobody planned. Serve: immediately, to everyone present, from the crowded, loved centre outward.