Today's prompt that I'm getting to, promptly: write about a colour.
After-Hours Bar
He’s followed her here, thinks he can see her
in the blue-green haze of the after-hours bar,
lava lamps on every sticky table,
coffee so black you’d swear
it’s where night comes from.
Musicians sing songs of love so right
they don’t want it anymore
while pistachio-coloured smoke
circles them like an ambush.
while pistachio-coloured smoke
circles them like an ambush.
He looks for her on the dance floor,
devil-dervish, that red satin dress,
scans the clutch of ladies lined up for the loo
but she’s nowhere, and if nowhere’s a place,
he’ll go there too.
§
No comments:
Post a Comment