Colors crawl across the wall, music joins our conversation, loud but invited.
They enjoy a moment stolen from the week's leash as all sit and sip and laugh and stroke old memories of how we used to be; so nice to know yourself now and then.

Is it that slow and constant that controls my thoughts?
Can't I tell it to give me a short stall, a quick draw, so I can join in?

Circular usually, how they spin about illusion to discount reality. I see myself in their dizzy, wishing to be a piece of their parts.
But now they shake my calm and make me wish for the quiet of night.