a cold front moves in

she's funny
when she's drinking, the one
or two
high balls,
that tipsy giggly time
when her eyes are
bright
and gleaming, when her
hands touch your
knee,
she laughs at all
your attempts at being
funny. but then,
the third and fourth
drink
change her.
a dark cloud moves in,
a cold front
arrives with a gust of wind.
she becomes
inquisitive about
where you were last night,
last year,
who are you texting or
talking to now.
what are your intentions
with me?
she asks.
those have changed, i
say to myself,
watching closely
the dessert fork in her
hand.