I can't put my finger,
On this scent that lingers,
Between these four walls.
A smile starts to form here,
But fades into gloomy lines,
I'm unaware as to why.

Locked doors behind my eyes,
Pounding until I'm asleep.
There's something decadent,
Gracing the air in this room.
Lips blurry and in no hurry,
To choose an emotion.

My lids flutter to a closed sign,
No lights or occupied bar stools,
But faint music echoes whispering,
The pounding is now soft bass.
And I can fully see your face,
And smell your laundry detergent.