I Heard I Might Find a Poet Here - Repost

Note: Reposted for my good friend John Hamilton who remembered I wrote this when I didn’t I was just sitting there writing when I saw her stroll in, I wasn’t alone, all eyes followed those curves sashaying as if she owned the place and maybe she did. . . if a heart can skip a beat, mine did a somersault. Obviously cut from a finer cloth than these eight dollar trousers ever found in their pockets, the fit much better too, a warm hug on a cold December day lingering in the moment She sat down at the crescent shaped bar, ordered a martini, neat, pulled a crisp twenty from her clutch and brushed a few stray brunette hairs from her face, the mirror behind the bar happily reflecting her beauty Raising the drink to her ruby red lips I found myself wishing I were that glass, smeared in her favorite shade, kissed by a sighing sip, caressed by porcelain fingers wiping sweat from a glistening neck A jewel in this dingy joint, shimmering in the dusty haze, breathing some class into this oblong shadow that had seen better days, but none like this, like her. She was out of place like fine wine in a shot glass . . . but didn’t seem to care She lifted a cigarette to her mouth, I was quick with a match, watching as tobacco embers flared and smoke rose upward, swirling about freeform. Putting her lips together she blew out the flame with a whisper of breath that made me weak in the knees, “Thank you.” I stared, forgetting the spent match I held between my fingers, tongue tied or mesmerized, take your pick, both answers are correct. “You’re welcome”, I stuttered like a school boy in braces, “new around here?” “Kind of”, her voice as chiffon is soft, “I heard I might find a poet here . . . ” To be continued . . . There are two more parts to this poem. I will post the remaining tomorrow if any would care to read them. : )