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He chose to sit outside,
Cuban in one hand, mojito in the other.
His eyes scanned the treeline,
Giant black marbles for eyes.
A songbird darted past his field of vision.
He scanned the Havana treeline.

A quick drag on the cigar,
And the loveliest puff,
Puff of smoke.
Mojito in the other hand,
He ran a finger down her sides,
Human curves of ivory and honey,
One lone digit of lead and dust.
He traced a finger down her side.

He chose to sit outside,
Cuban in one hand, mojito in the other.
Birds sang.
He closed his eyes as he drank.
Birds sang.