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I recall an evening.
The frequented tavern we wandered into,
the unsolicited quantity of oaked rum absorbed
and pomegranate juice spilled.
The disproportionate performance of your nice clothes
and my face, clear of cosmetic masking.
In the gloom, my eyes were straining for one last drink of you—
The resounding and irregular thump of speakers,
strings being tuned and vocal chords warming.
I could have stretched my hand out, hypnotised again, but then—
Shall we stay a while longer, I said to the ceiling, thinking
it takes excess to walk the path of healing.