Late at a Party
Differences last - At the stroke of midnight, Lines blur with the twelve chime. And quips rush to their destination. Again laughter splits the air, And the room takes shape. The form beckons, And your face illuminates The nothingness of the moment. When all wilts, And the conversation returns (Looking for a motive) I listen as the blur of the chaos That accompanies the drinking Languishes into the drapery, Strike up a conversation with the person next to me, And think of you.