Two voices are floating in the air
By the dark corner of the nite-club.
It's Friday evening.

The other voice dies
Now and then
Only to smoke.
The other voice
Now and then
Laughs
Half suppressed laughs.

These two mysterious voices without visible owners
Are gliding in the thick night breeze
Towards the gazebo
Where braai fires are licking beef and pork,
From beneath the black wire mesh.
It's a move,maybe
To be visible,
To wear the flesh,
To content the curious eyes, shadowing
With ears thrown wide open,
To perceive if not to hear.

It's a surprise.
It's Suzie and Joe, floodlit
About to leave for the night ecstasy
Of the pleasure dance.