A cold beer
revives my throat
by now the rag-red
sun glides toward
the horizon.
The barmaid’s lips
in tints of rouge
and bright embers delight,
she picks up the
residues of
her evening smile,
quenching the deep thirst
of this hollow crowed.
With night eyes
upon the clock
she anticipates
the sweet scent
of the exit door,
as the hour of freedom arrives
she becomes the moon
wrapped in a black silk sky.
She is born Queen of the Evenings,
she is home!
Beneath the shavings
of this starry angelic night.


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