She is lost among the blended drones
Streetlight simmering in her satin blouse
Hugging her figure
As the excess of it billows in the breeze
Scene screaming in muted fog
Glazed over gazes through cigarette plumes
Mouths propelling darted smoke ribbons
Through the chilled Autumn air
As their flat-ironed coifs of jet black sheen
Bob and weave amidst the bushel of business casual
Clumsily chasing the cherry with her heel
She saunters into the dim lit bar
Ginghamed hips and burnished lips
She’d make out with a doorknob
If the opportunity presented itself
A cocktail of cologne and beer breath waft
Around her
Loosened ties adorn the sea of suits
Frantically yelling over open bottles
Keep her mind from wandering
Wandering eyes beadily skim silhouettes
Running the length of the room
Like greyhounds along a dirt track
She’s been made
Custom-tailed Chaminade owns her
Looms over her as his eyes linger on her soft recesses
She cocks her head back in her gaiety
As he feigns enthralled
Doting words and drink drive her inching
Compulsion warms her cheek
Soon they crouch together into a mustard cab
Laughing in a mutual understanding
Her fingers tracing his tie
Mimicking trite scenes of romance
When it is surely anything but
And, she knows this in the morning
Her ritualistic swabs of her fingertips
Dab delicately at her eyes
To wipe remnants of last night
Alone, her left hand covets the leathered backseat
As her right remembers an undone button of her blouse
The shadowed smears beneath her eyes betray her
As her driver judges through his rearview
Feeling the heat of his gaze
Her almond eyes pool
As she promises and swears in whispers
Lids shut, allowing the tears to escape
Running her cheek
Running hopes that this will be the last
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