Adam's Apples

Beneath his droopy dim eyes lies his penchant for the paper,

A shared gaze draws him near as he bolts past his brother,

Rippled sweat roams rapidly on his face 

and betrays him by revealing his pace.

The cold lucid glass feels the warmth of his breath 

as the carefully knotted polythene strangles ten mahogany fingers.

He fixes his pleading pupils and flashes his pearly whites with tact.

Rattling prices as though a rhythmic routine,

his legs quiver as if time has been unkind.

She focuses on the fleeting movement of his famished mouth;

and spies misplaced saliva which sells him out.

Her lips part as muted words wander through his streets.

Streets created for his labour like Adam in Eden,

with no suitable helper to bear a burden.

Green-lights flash with no trade made,

and dashed hopes form across his face as distace fades.

She's whiffed-off wishing she plucked a piece of Adam's apples.