the black tarmac was still hot from the daylight
sitting there as people took turns
bombing down the driveway on metal scooters
drinking beer from multicolored solo cups
the passage of time loses meaning
there's a sense of ease to the night
a sense that we were on the right path
a sense that there was never a path to begin with
certain windows began to slowly close
and people were seen scrambling for them
not wanting to be left alone
on the inside
sleeping on a couch
alone,
with a case of beer as a pillow
and when the next morning rolls around
naked bodies pressed together
warming slowly in the morning sun
they resort to physical intimacy
to hide from any conversation
all of which is deemed
simply too awkward
and when it is all over
nothing is ever really changed
but they feel better
better for the release