Ten minutes late
One foot in the door
No one notices the new addition to the party

Twentyish people
Three rooms
There is little space to hide

Twelve gallons of soda
Six bags of chips
The fuel is never ending

Two hands holding
Two bodies touching
The most recent arrival awkwardly observes

Four hours later
Two sodas downed
The intimacy still increases

One step forward
Two steps back
He drifts toward the door

Twenty minuets pass
Fifteen miles driven
The boy sits at his computer and composes his regrets

Seven stanzas written
One memory burning away
He still doesn't know how if he should sat down,
put his arm around someone's shoulder
and talked the night away

About a week later
He forgets how to hold someone's hand