The dark corners of the room spoke of
decades past. Heels clacked on the floor
as shadows danced by candlelight.
Words flowed like wine as we sat in the
well worn wood. A cool sweat reflected
on the glasses as the ice melted amidst the
sound of Jazz floating in air. A steady pulse
of time swung back and forth into a groove
as your finger tap-tapped on the table top.
We played the parts of film noirs past. Your
dress fit for the body of a movie palace
queen. When the candle wick burned out
and the wax hardened once more, we stepped
from that static age and into the rushing
tides of the city streets.
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