My fingers run along the fake wood
Too smooth and cool in the early night
–
The phone sits notificationless
Seemingly without purpose
–
The beat thumps
The crescendo rises
–
Saxophones rift on chords
A voice, melancholy, intones melodies
–
My feelings gassify
Same for the bubbles in the sparkling water bottle
–
I feel the singer is saying something important
But it’s lost on me
–
The evening fades and stars alight
But it’s lost on me
