A Typical Evening

Speaking from behind a cloud
of memories and all that crap,
a bottle of Evian dulls
the taste of blood.
Their eyes say:
We've heard it all before --
go home and pray some more.

Then, in the parking lot
waiting for dreams to pop
one of the few
who are so many
quitting something on a Friday night,
(Deus and candlelight)
tells us she can't attend.

So, it's
night in the theater,
and her hand's caress
protects against static
on the movie screen --
She's not my type
but tonight I'll hold her.

Of course in there somewhere
hidden deep inside my chest
the thudding starts
and in that moment of divine regress
I understand that souls connect
for what it's worth.