I don’t cry, she tells me
Dumping her sorrows in bottles of wine and stale kisses
There is nothing subtle in wailing
Hazy vision and mascara soaked
You puff on beer and moonlight
We hold on to the wall,
Our fists full of ash
The Great bartender will soon lean forward
Bright lights, grand and mystic, moving his lips to a slow
rhythm of
“You’ve had enough”
I don’t care, you tell him
Dumping your drink across the counter
There is nothing subtle in screaming his name
Hands cuffed and your arm reaching out to his neck
You pour one for the moonlight
We hold on to the bar
Our fists full of ash.
