The Bar


I think of how I met you at the bar,
how you were so beautiful with that
dirty brown frazzled hair and so far
away on the other side, men and their
violent ruckus clouding my vision,
curse words flying out like a violent
man with ambition, some of them so
sadistic, but not you by your quiet
and reserved nature, not you, so
I come up to you, sit on a stool and
and get comfortable, wonder things
about you like your name and passions,
beginning to muster up words without
any coming out at all, and you looking
at me happily, dangling your feet,
curious, eager to know if you had
seen it all, and I knelt my head down,
trying so hard to think of something
charming and smart to say while you look
up and start laughing, laughing at
how I could not make this all start,
so you put your hand on mine, and
I look up into your gorgeous brown
eyes that shone under limelight as
I think to myself, "All of this is just right."

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