The Writers' Circle

It felt good to meet up again
to talk of politics and life,
denounce the state of education,
the moral fibre of families today
and the rising price of food.

He moved slower,
looked thinner with extra lines around the eyes.

I bragged about my recent conquest,
an exciting lifestyle of speed and champagne
which sufficiently blurred hyped up conversations
from random people 
who drifted through my days.

He smiled 
as his eyes focused beyond my head.

I had nothing left to say beyond that
so I held his hand.
Thin, cold, knotted with purple threads
that made my stomach churn 
but I loved him.

So we sat
and the connection was greater than I have ever known.