Show

In this room

everyone is captivated

by flannel clad guitarists

and their feet glow gold

under the single overhead light

and I am red-wine nostalgic

wishing I could wink at you

across the room; that your

brown eyes, white teeth, 

black, black hair would

suddenly appear on the 

floral couch.

We could shoot knowing

glances back and forth 

everyone else milling around

with their gold feet 

totally oblivious to 

love ricocheting off

the moulding, wooden 

and crowned.