The ringleader spoke loudly, but walked without shoes,
Over glasses and tiles and red-white-and-blues
Every sentence illformed, but every meaning the same
We were delightfully volatile, but descriptively mundane.
It was something unsustainable and deviantly unattainable
When held up against our quickly diverging truths,
It was the soft pressing of urgency and random courage
Warm and emerging through the blind compass of youth.
It was something you never need to do, but did, and coined.
It was a subtle incision to get to the point:
This evening's disjointed,
And the color leaves this fabric in peace
"It's starting to get late now, and I think I should leave."