by R. Nikolas Macioci
We leave the dinner party alone, separate for appearances sake,We squandered time in restless conversation, loosing a bit of a buzzfrom many glasses of Merlot.With no apparent explanationwe let our emotions slide together,decided to free ourselves of clothesin the late-night darkness of my room.You could be wearing a t-shirtthat said “Friday Night Fantasy,”so ready am I to help you outof a plain white one. We free words,say soft sounds for which the mind doesn't even hope. Later, you roll from my side. Streetlight blinds me with your indestructible brooding. No more laughs or smiles bubble outdisguised as understanding. I ask you to leave if the naked act of honest loneliness punches youin the gut. You have triumphed.Your handsome face grumbles,refuses to humble itself. You have shamelessly turned my outcry of urgency to your bite of silence. Before you reach the door, I tell you I've already forgottenyour name, to go and danceinto someone else's solitudewhile you're still remembered.