At loud house parties,
did you ever slip away
and close the door of some corner room,
dampening the bass, the chatter,
look about at the eerie stillness –
a museum at night –
and fight the urge to sleep
in the comforting far-off cries
of sirens, in your city-loft;
the wildness swarms
but wraps and bends around your solitude.

I suppose they call this ‘privacy’;
the ability to disengage,
and retreat to your corner of the house.