You liked the tease of an open door drawing you in
To the rumour of something less complicated than a guess
And more simple than a flower’s arithmetic poise.
You gave in to the surprise of bustling conversations
Opening into bottled laughter and stifled chatter;
The room is imploding with smell of ripe wine and paper universes;
They’ve been busy and just managed to squeeze you in
To their pressured space well up to the point
When nobody is making small talk anymore. Nobody cares.
Your toes are beginning to dig into the rug
Like their life wanted to run off on their own;
The wine is non-sweeter after swirling all this while.
Whether you drank it or not,
You just want to leave. Run away, if you will.
Before this space chokes you with monster hands.
You’re pushing one breath out, one bale before the next
Like wool falling off your eyes and you see
That you would have been frozen out like stuck up grapes.
When you think what you think whenever you are leaving
You wonder if words are necessary.
Image by Sina Souza via Flickr.
About the Author:
Sochi is a writer, marketing professional and curious time bender. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.