her sigh intoxicates the room
with harbored resentment gaining momentum
he lets the first, the second, the third notice
slip into the melted ice at the bottom of his drink
feeling warmth from an uneasy grip
it's a practiced sequence
forged in the fragments of lifeless dreams
who sometimes prefer to be called nightmares
depending on how much sleep they steal
the mental script ready behind the curtain of closed lips
looking for any distraction from the impending
borrowed lines from other failed conversations
still vibrant enough to sting
her walk declares distress
moving into his frame
a delicate decision capable
of damage he'd rather not embrace
but her course takes her beyond him
into some other end of the night
he catches only the sliver of a lonely face
imperfectly aligned with his expectations