Concinnity

Looking down at my empty glass

I note how quickly hours have passed

without any event of note.

My window has been painted black

whilst my eyelids are growing slack

and there’s a hard lump in my throat.

I have no source of elation

but for music’s reverberation;

the sound’s my only company.

Slumped in a soft seat in the shade

I’m living the lyrics being played

as if the songs were written for me.

In the albums dying seconds

I realise my bed beckons,

where it gives me space to think.

but before I go to slumber

I put on another number

and pour myself another drink…