The Downstairs Vesper

[Verse 1]
The August air on Coliseum Street was thick as molasses roux.
The big house smelled of beeswax, cut limes, and something money-new.
I balanced a silver tray of coupes, a ghost in a black-and-white seam,
Pretending the life inside was more than a half-remembered scene.

[Chorus]
That was the year of the downstairs vesper,
The silent toast that made us richer.
Two floors apart, we drew the picture
Of this room, right now, with this new fixture.

[Verse 2]
You parked a line of chrome and steel out on the neutral ground.
My starched cuff scraped my wrist with a brittle, paper-thin sound.
"Just one more hour," you mouthed from the dark, past a wrought-iron gate.
My reply was the level line of gin, a disciplined, steady weight.

[Chorus]
That was the year of the downstairs vesper,
The silent toast that made us richer.
Two floors apart, we drew the picture
Of this room, right now, with this new fixture.

[Bridge]
I studied the crazing on the porcelain they used,
A map of fine damage, subtly diffused.
We were the foundation then, a truth they'd never see,
The hidden structure of their revelry.

[Chorus]
That was the year of the downstairs vesper,
The silent toast that made us richer.
Two floors apart, we drew the picture
Of this room, right now, with this new fixture.

[Outro]
The silent toast... that made us richer.