A Cabernet Kiss, To Explain The Night

               Perspicuous through her own glass, she finished, while glancing at his, as the rich red cabernet fell into his lips. The very lips she knew she would kiss before the nights end. If, that is, she could find them beneath his bushy black mustache. As his head was inclined back, in response to his search for sedative pleasure, she sparingly asked "So tell me, when you look off you balcony at night, into the bright florescent lights, which capture every street corner, every smile, and every woe, what do you see?" Finishing his wine, he took occasion in placing the glass onto the table. He revealed a smile, which was made apparent, beneath his mustache. Leaning forward, as if he were to tell her something of a secret, he focused his eyes onto hers, and said "I see what you see, my dear. The tools of conditioning that has built everyone's perception is also rooted beneath my vision as well." Lifting his brow "But it is that of an intellectual, that looks not only with their vision, but their mind as well. Revealing a greater landscape then before." He then paused for a moment, noticing her look "What I see, is not what you see, if that is, you cannot see past what your peripherals show you."
                  As he was looking into her glowing green eyes, which hid generously behind her lashes, he noticed a small change in her temperament. He undoubtedly knew, before he said it, and now, that she was not going to be satisfied with the response he gave. Leaning in towards him, she stated with absolute monotone "The definition of intelligence can be measured by many things, but that is an avenue of irrelevance right now, for you have not answered my question." The man cracked a smiled, and said, "I admire you. If I told you what you wanted to hear, I would be no different than the man who flatters the vulnerable, the man who fears to take risk for reward, and the man who does not question what it is he is told, even, and especially from the highest of powers." He reclined once again, back into his chair, lifting the front wooden legs off of the Persian rug which kept his prestige in tact. "If I were to look off of my balcony at night, into the bright florescent lights, which capture every street corner, every smile, and every woe, that is exactly what I would see." Adjusting his collar he went on "A garden of conditioned apparitions, lurking under the street lights. A legal permit of existence. A passel of slaves. That my dear, is what I see."
                  There was a moment of resonating silence, the man searched into her eyes for a response, placing the chair legs back onto the rug. He noticed her lean forward intimately, he then timely reciprocated . As it were, before the nights end, her lips met his, and sparked a connection of satisfaction. As he knew it would.