Dinner Party (May.2015)

Under the spotlights
Of the chandeliers
I felt the patter of every heel
Along with each fork’s high pitched tonic
Striking the surface of concave plates. 
Laughter sharply reverberated off the walls. 
Even my lemonade’s pour lingered
Like the whisper evoked by kissing cymbals
I was an audial vortex with a veracious appetite,
Consuming every intone daring enough to leap into the air
But when her azure eyes consumed me
Even the most boisterous cry seemed faint
Relative to the palpitating thunder of my heart
And when she mellifluously inquired “what is it that you write?”
Out of the rampant choir in my conscious I could only piece out
“Well, I write poems”

But there was a genuine, coy voice,
That to this day wishes I heard it say
“Well, I write poems about women like you”