Slow Dancing to Sinatra

tired turns to tumultuous,
when is was just cute
a moment ago,
and now the conversation
ends in a whimper,
not a laugh or a Muppet voice. 

the studio was closed,
and I am not there,
but instead of usual 
evening dance,
we are at throats
making the moment more.

it should have been less;
Sylvia sayings 
and face requests,
yet the narrative changes,
leaving the wounded
to wound.

sure, maybe one day one of us
may have to move on
towards a different constant,
be it a horizon or hither,
but not tonight 
and hopefully not tomorrow.