After a Party

The yelling starts again, this time around
Some guy who put his arm around you.
Did he or didn't he? Did he or didn't he?

Did he rub your back and talk in low tones
Unheard above the glasses on tabletops
Of eyes that see and understand too well?

The words start, the ones meaning
The argument is already halfway to silence.
Bombs and syllables crushing walls.

The volume isn't what hurts us the most
It is the tone that corkscrews into your ears
And pulls out peace, quiet, calm.

The bombs don't mean that much
The tone gives them violence and yield. 
I clutch my pillow and look at my bear.

It has brown glass eyes that never
Hold that tone in them. I try to sleep
After this small fight in this uninvited war.