The guilt will subside, for
a day at least - and the barkeep
will pour one more drink, to numb
the taste of an inevitably regretful
and shadowed past.

   These fingers, dipped in a hysterical
paint of red, taste much nicer than her
auburn eyes would have expected -
considering the
deathly circumstance of this
night.

As the lark calls outside, society
turns its head - slightly - a nod of
recognition to the disrupted
path between the
trees.

And

While he and she watch on
like those cursed with
a panging desire to idle under
azul clouds, the barkeep’s client
drinks with an avid intent.