The lights are dim and they flicker
Looking at them with more rigour
Makes it apparent the candles are fake.
Setting the mood for what?
Odd to know that you can’t physically
Put your finger over until it’s too hot
For the face across
From you to stay friendly with the knot
They’ve been building in their throat at all costs.
But alas, your finger
Is quite unlike the myth of Icarus,
And now the listless silence will linger
Unless you drive a nail through that finger.