Track Insight / Lyrics
I held six elbows, a fork cold in the rice,
the floor quiet where their sneakers used to scuff.
A cab don't talk till the last meter stops its spin, they say—
I ain't felt a knee-knock since the door latched at ten.
Vibrates low, like the horn on 5th when the traffic thins.
A glass ring, still wet. Sitting where it sits.
Nobody scraping the chair back, nobody asking for the bill—
Just the tick of the stove light. The hum in the wall.
Napkin, fanned where her palm was. Coffee-ring brown.
That grey February sheeh on the glass by the sink.
I know the block is hush—cabs idling, keys off on the curb—
Somebody got a key in the lock and I hold my breath.
Vibrates low, like the horn on 5th when the traffic thins.
A glass ring, still wet. Sitting where it sits.
Nobody scraping the chair back, nobody asking for the bill—
Just the tick of the stove light. The hum in the wall.
