Locked away in her own mind sitting silently perched on a barstool
She watches encounters of couples around her conjoined by tequila
In pre-sunrise moments, shooting Jello like whisky that sours.
Swapping old stories and old cars with a grain of salt,
Shaken not stirred in the misty waters of a tear-stained page...
Silently she notes the memory of a slow dance on saw dusted floors
Two step promenades and clandestine embraces in dimly lit corners
That hung like a ballad on a slow long note and echoed in the night
Humming to the tune of a long forgotten song silenced years ago
In the wake of a muse and the death of a sonnet
Sitting perched on a bar-stool like a prop
Watching each move placed with precision
Like the words of a haiku by a forgotten poet.
Drinking a glass of regret in closing hours of a smoke filled room
Jotting down each pass... each line... each flirt...
While trying not to be analytical,
In the lyric of a poem....

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