| The smell of incense lingers at the party, taps memories sound asleep, triggers a yawn, a stretch, a flicker and muscles come alive again yet around the room filled with girls and wine this man sits shoulders pointed inward tense, on the end of the sofa, looking for words to use, a clever turn of phrase and do they notice the sweat on his forehead? Have his eyes given him away? he steps outside for a smoke in the freezing cold and his sweat disappears and he is free to let the sleeping giant talk, it�s words familiar enough to evoke a smile and it cuts through wind that is cold and blank. |
| at the party |