Then he'd gone. So he'd chosen to go.
And I refused to remain alone.
It was still early, not too far past ten,
and I decided: I'd go out again.
The night before, I had gone out to drink
and dance — delay, stall calling, and not think.
It had been my first night back in eight months,
and my return was an impulsive stunt,
for I'd said nothing about visiting —
I'd just bought tickets and gone travelling.
And the recluse came out after coaxing
But he would not stay.

                          At my heart's goading,
I would depart from that bright, garish room;
I'd bury my grief in frigid night gloom.
Sheathed in layers against insufferable cold,
I walked dark empty streets, alone yet bold.
Back to the bustling Avenue I traversed,
into a club across the street from the first.
Some boy I'd met had described it to me
as overall being a good place to be:
four floors of dancing, each differently themed,
and more bars and drinks than he could have dreamed.

Alone, I was by the bouncer let in.
A gaping darkness greeted me within,
which fit my mood perfectly fine right then.
I'd gone to a bar to quiet my yen
for a calming warm drink, smooth, strong, and sweet.
With it I'd explored that danceclub elite,
ascending each floor, surveying the young crowd.
The dancefloors were too full, the music loud —
not really a place where you could find
anyone with whom you could meld minds
(pop culture allusion, lame as it is).
Some drunken blond tried to lead me to his
table, but I evaded his arm fast
and thought my next beer would be my last.
But at the bar, I would meet a Finn man,
a nice-looking blond with a healthy tan,
and his selling point: he wasn't drunk,
even if he wasn't quite a hunk.

I forget his name, but he was fine
company that night. He crossed no line.
We drank and danced and smoked on the nightclub's roof,
though lack of common tongue made chatter a spoof.
At least I didn't have to try and explain —
though, not like this guy would care about my pains.
Still, despite apathy, we had that night
to dance and drink and smoke up on that height;
the roof was a convenient gathering spot
where the club's patrons cooled down when they grew hot.
But whateverhisnamewas did seem to want
to convey one point; poor English didn't daunt
him from hinting that he'd like to go home
with me that night, and on his boat we'd roam
some islands or something — I don't know
what he was saying. But I let him know
that he could walk me back, though I cannot
say he understood.

                          At last, when I got
from the night all I could and fatigue impelled
me to leave, the chivalrous Finn guy quelled
my pleas about cutting into his fun,
saying that his own evening was now but done.
And he walked me back to my hotel's glass door,
where saying goodnight, I went alone to my floor.
And I laughed to recall how he'd hovered
there, when thanks and goodbye I had covered
with a hug and a wave. He had sought to stay.
And I cursed the recluse for going away.