Subject to nuances

The things I never do,
Provides troubled consciousness,
Riddled by fear and the settling comfort,
Of isolation.
Remember what Elvis said and forget what he never remembered.

Lovely requests splicing momentous impressions on napkins and receipts.
Constant conversations lusciously running from soft lips and heavy thoughts.

Remember when we ate here. Before you used to draw on your notepad, as if you’re an author disguised as a guest in a house,
Hospitality is opulent,
Here,
You’d assume the responsibility of a cake and wine aficionado,
Scouting the plaza for inexpensive service.

Remember when this used to be a thing,
Ordering dessert before the drinks, before the doors opened,
Before she noticed when you were gone,
Out of spirits and out of tea,
Out from this soul,
Innocuous eyes, say keep away.
But my hands tremble,
Clasp to my knees,
Hesitant to either get up or leave this place for good.

This is subject to change:
As with every thing we do.
Incessant noise rattles my sub conscious,
Why don’t I just relieve my mind with a film and jazz stations?

That’s no question, it’s the nuance of the millennium.

/nothing

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