Light is dim.

There is nothing in the room except the sound of saxophone and the distant bubbles of champagne hissing from the glass. The quietness of the music transcends the physicality of the room. No, it's not loneliness; but it is neither noiseyness.
The lip takes a sip at the glass that is filled with golden liquor, bubbles beading away and condensing on the perfect smoothness of the curve.

Nothing more and nothing less can ever make exactly this moment of perfection.