Without speech, Former lovers meet, At a party and are reintroduced To themselves. In that mute Moment, eyes carry words down To hands that are unwishing, Unmoved to join, yet touch Haphazardly in the cacophony Of dark party. The former lovers Lips are locked in air, unmoist, Their hearts beat to the tuneless Drone of old music and stale bread, Their bodies fuddle in a tortuous groove, At the reception they could not get out Of attending. In a split second, they pray, It will be unquick, yet soon, just over.