She used to call me “baby.”Gliding effortlessly over to my table, she would sit on my lap
Then slowly tracing the line of my jaw with her finger
Put the warmth of her mouth to my ear and ask me to buy her a drink
I must have bought that insatiable bitch a thousand drinks
And yet here I sit, swirling the memory around in the bottom of my glass
as I grind my forsakenness into the abyss of an ashtray.
Still, watching the remnants of desire dissipate into the darkness
I tempt the brunette with a freshly creased dollar bill
She used to call me “baby.”
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2011
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