The evening, purple and plush, is tender.
Her breezy suggestions of tales, told late
well, often, and loudly from tables
laden with good friends. The fingerprinted
beer glasses fill with memories, plump with
well worded love, seed the new day
and push just a little harder toward joy.
Glasses emptied, giggles abounding
posture themselves as little brother
to guffawed grins on quivering chins,
twin bearers of gladness and gloom.
For soon the night must absolve
the room of her secrets, and
invite the neighbored goodness back
to places now refreshed in
the exercise of lingering laughter
late and perfectly balanced,
found only among the best of friends.