She's beautiful
there on the corner,
as I leave the comfort
of the bar toward the winter's
cold.
She's standing,
sipping on a parliament,
--Perhaps not the best
choice in cigarette--
covered up in an army
green coat with a fox fur
edging the hood and
framing her face
in an idyllic beauty
cast in the smoky fog
of cigarette and winter breath.
We passed brief conversation
back and forth.
She smiled with a grimace
and impeccable grace,
she laughed with a wail.
Terribly drunk and miserably happy;
in a life here between cities and here
between careers.
Here between men she never cared for
but aways loved.
She's beautiful
as she says her goodbye
with a trained grace
and a measured smile.
She's beautiful
as she stomps out the parliament
and opens the door
to a cab back to her
hotel and back to
her half-loved men,
her half-loved home, and
her half smoked cigarettes.
She only wanted
a little relief.
She only wanted
an escape.
I am a terribly selfish man,
but for once I wish
I could have a part
in that escape.