Nightdeath

 + nightdeath +
The night is long
And I am too short
You prefer them tall
Slavic slate sharp cheekbones
A certain swagger in their talk
Bad boys or want to bes
Who dress for parties to which I will be uninvited
Driving cars I can't understand how they afford
And a way with speech
Sneering insulting and clear
There is a pecking order
I was not born to know of
Let alone be part of
The secret signals in how they move
The topics of conversation
Flow around me as I jostle
With these perfect nightlife creatures
For your attention
And somewhere between third and fourth drink
I lose your attention completely
End up talking to an empty seat
As you sweep out beyond me
A mirage receding permanently
From locus of my affectations.