The dark corners of the room spoke of decades past,
Heels clacked on the floor as shadows danced by
Candlelight. Conversation flowed as we sat in the
Well worn wood. The sacrament of Dionysus was
Poured into the glass as the chattering voices fell
silent to our ears. Jazz floated through the air in a
steady pulse of time swinging back and forth into
a groove with your finger tap tapping on the table.
We played the parts of film noirs past, your dress
Fit for any movie palace queen. When the candle
Wick burned out and the wax hardened once more,
We stepped out from that static age and into the
Rushing tides of the city streets.
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