Impasse

Is it mine? Is it yours?
That candle burning in a lost cause,
Swaying beneath decorating lights,
On a table of two empty chairs.

Chandeliers tinkling comprehend,
Silence has chosen to descend,
Two Chinas facing each other,
Alongside assorted non-veg platter,
On a red checkered table cloth,
Yet unembellished,
As the evening remains undernourished,
And much too sober as
Steady menisci of half-empty vine glasses.

As Smsing key tone punctuate the air
And main course awaits our care
Will you appear? Will I be there?