it never went out, just stood adjacent to the square,
unmathematical in its positioning,
someone new at the party, unsure whether to leave their
wine, amongst all wine, or to tell the host
for fear of seeming empty handed.
The flame itself proved uneternal, but while it
burned, I rallied by it, palpating my jaw,
punched almost over briefly before, I heard
my glasses skitter away, someone new
collected them, the empty glove slid down
through my brain folds engaging whichever bits
as a throbbing expanded my existence,
listen, I hear myself say, just stay awake, go home,
no-one shall know how queasy this makes you feel,
you are subdued, it shows, you are quieted,
go home, stay awake, go home.
i love how the feelings in this are all so precise <3 fear of seeming empty handed, the hidden queasy
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