When purple glazes the weltering sky
Limns a horizon like a blanket's hem
Pulling over the dying day again
She waits for the coming night's falling cry
When the scents of perfume and spirits lift
Life from the diurnal torpor's haze
Forcing her impulse above her reason
To walk by the darkened window's tableau
Shadowy figures moving to fast time
In a neighborhood saloon with a band
Guarded by neon proclaiming some such brew
She's hidden her despair and without a care
Opens the door to nightlife's glittering roar.
~Dr.M
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