She is beautiful, in any room.
In dark shade’s & a vail, as if to hide herself, from nefarious palls.
From her gait, she does more of a stroll, its mousey and frail.
I’m sitting in my favorite corner, hazed in boro smoke & I’m impaled by this mystery that I hide beneath, that tells me, why she is here.
She has this black dress on, silk, worn a little too big it hangs about her threatening to fall & failing her limbs.
From her lips, chalky and pale, this cigarette hang’s not quite lit.
The speakers are playing a favorite melody, “The Song Remains The Same”.
Like her, it starts out hurried & frenzied, then gently slows.
She sit’s down next to me, though we seem wolds apart.
I know she wanted my corner, it’s the only reason she sat there.
I know I’m not an enemy or a friend, but of all the cyber bump’s, this one I chose?
Okay my boro is one long ash, & my cheap joe has gone cold.
It’s just not like me,to waste a perfectly good fix, it’s all too real.
Her cell is vibrating unanswered, she pushes it off, away, as if repelled.
What is it with this joint, now “The Rain Song” play’s, she speak’s & says
“I LOvE this song” almost a whisper, just not to me, her head is turned away.
As she kinda swoons or sways, with this gentle rhythm, sipping wine.
She turn’s, look’s at me, but says nothing, then turns away again.
Then she says, “why do you care, what I dream” not looking at me, but still away.
So I answer anyway, “It’s only in our dreams, we travel through time, to look back into our past lives”.
“Is that right” she says, turning back to me, “that’s my seat”, then turned away.
“Ya I know, I’ve been waiting, I just didn’t know exactly for what” another long ash burnt up.
“My name is Belle”, clutched her things and slugged her half filled glass of wine.
With a dribble running down from the corner of her lips, sauntered down & out the door.
What is it with this place, now “Going to California” plays, EXCUSE ME, may I have a fresh cup.