The street is silent

And you would never guess

At the madness behind that small, black door.

 

I walk in

And the sweet splendor of the quiet street

Is shattered like a martini glass.

 

No heads turn

No eyes dart upward.

I am no more than a drop in this raging sea.

 

A wall of clinking crystal

And colored liquid

Beckons with a sly finger.

 

Alcohol has never liked my tongue,

So a glass of simple water

Is poured by practiced hands.

 

A cheap paper umbrella

Is dipped in among cubes of ice,

A joke long-since emptied of humor.

 

But I laugh anyway.

 

I maneuver myself

With precarious shoes

Onto a well frayed bar stool.

 

A sweet, pleasant cologne

Fills the heavy air,

Masking the previous scent of liquor and wine.

 

I throw a quick, sidelong peek.

That hair, that face.

So familiar…

 

I sneak another glance,

But so did he.

Too late, no hiding now.

 

Eyes that I know are green

Become funny colors

In the changing light.

 

A compliment is tossed hastily into the air.

I suddenly feel hot in my glittering dress

And adjust it a little, an excuse to look away.

 

He asks if I want to dance

And I try to say “I’d love to”

But just smile and nod instead.

 

Song after song

 In the flashing lights

And somehow we both know them all.

 

But suddenly his face is close to mine

My hair spilling onto his shirt

Those eyes, so deep, but gentle

And he’s singing along again

But this time it’s different

He’s singing to me, just to me.

I feel uncertain but pretend that I’m not

I merge his breath with mine

 I bridge the gap,

And for some reason he doesn’t break that bridge.

 

My feet burn like lava

So he carries me upstairs—

There’s an upstairs?

 

I want to rip off my agonizing shoes

But he does that instead

With a much kinder hand.

 

The music is not so ferociously loud

Up here in this moonlit room,

And the song is soft and melancholy.

 

The midnight breeze that flows through an open window

Is frigid and stiff

So we stick close together.

 

I know the words well

But I let him sing them

To me, just to me.

 

The darkness is peaceful

Like the empty streets below,

And that pleasant cologne still tickles my nose

As he sings to me

Just to me.