among the hysterically bland crowd, there are those eyes
armed with quick, broken – violin strings unstrung — glances
they glisten with phantoms of a distant emotion — mysterious, melancholic, metaphysical—
things are left unsaid, but your soul is touched with assumptions.
they dance and dance until feverish
then collapse into your memory — dead lovers, barren music, twisted plots-
and you cling to those eyes.