Alize (2nd draft)

We guzzled
that too-sweet wine
in the sorozo, where fat
men sweat over fruit machines.
I led you through charcoal
wallpaper to the wrong
side of the looking glass,

road signs shrank
like night butterflies
in paper cups, owls
framed a tiny door.

We are lizards basking
in a decollage of glass,
brick and plastic, crows
pecking at a landmine,
we bend teaspoons
down throats
to steal yawns.

Among a shadow puppet
theatre of the grotesque
silhouetted on gables,
we are butter drenched.

I clutch my brown envelope
like a lunchbox,
and leave.