I’m in a late night bar
in the big city
only the sound of
Johnny Hartman on
a background radio
and thoughts of her
keep me here
through a subtle hint
of pure blue I can
almost feel the
distant neon glow
the shadows dance
across the room like
black angels the wind
whispers through an
open widow like a
ghostly stranger
the features of her face
are captured within
the silhouette of
a perfect grey
the twisting smoke
curls from her fingers
from her lips drift
a thousand sorrows
she walks past me
with tremendous style
she walks past me
close enough to touch …
Clay.M