Candelabra

An attempt born of sleep depravity
To make sense of this haunting smoke
Swirling about crisp air, candelabra,
Shadows grazing brand new laces, fresh leathers,
Wine, bonding strangers as friends,
The disconnect being drowned by glamour.
There's stifled laughter, earnest,
Yet matte. There's a glaze to the eyes and a falsity
To the setting.

There's that dark taste of blood red wine,
And a realization born of its honesty.
The implied romanticism precludes true intimacy.
None of these people feel like they belong;
And no one does,
But we've never looked better,
And we've never been more "on,"
So we'll keep feign faces and affective smiles.
Keep our discomfort to ourselves,
And glance to mirrors for validity.

(C) Kaitlin Kristina M. Reeves