Warm was the willingness of love,
a girl lost in a bar of banter,
forlorn for what she longed to find
as the spirit entered her glass.
Soft sat her wondering heart
as she gazed upon the boys and passersby,
seeking salvation in borrowed love,
her lips ran wet with rum’s sweet kiss.
In all the madhouse noise,
her sullen silence filled the air she breathed.
The only touch her forearm felt
was the cold of the chipped wood counter.
A yearning not yet named,
paralyzed by ether and breath,
she bowed her heavy head
down to the glass.