I
There is a secret language among the damned
There are words, but they come last
The truth is seen in the eyes,
And the pause
Between breaths
We know each other, you and I
Amidst the haunted ghosts that fill this
Shitty glitzy party
Your breath smells like cigarettes
And my fist knows the feel of your hair
Clenched fast in panting little deaths
Arcane knowledge gained without the touch
But recognition
Like a spark
In just a glance
It crackles like a silent thunderclap
As our arms brush reaching for a canape
Bob from Sales has someone you need to meet
And my vodka soda has run dry
But we know.