i'm in love with the way
we all crowd around each other
in flatteringly-lit places
with four walls
overpriced drinks
and some dark noise
as we keep to ourselves mostly
in groups of one or three

being social

but sometimes
you look into someone's lined eyes accidentally,
strangers,
as if to say 'save me, please. are you it? please be it.'
no one ever is
quite
it

then, we look away intensely at the floor,
or pick up an ash tray that is suddenly so interesting,
or ask to *** a cig
or something stupid.

as the night rolls into itself
and you find yourself alone in your unmade bed
again
to conclude yet another day,
now that you're so tired of
conclusions.

and nothing is quite
it