She is striped and small
like a child, a kitten,

a stranger and then
the lights go down. She dominates
stage and scene, her voice a warrior
in layers of fight

wants to be healed
as if I can pull her from
the ashes of centuries
past,
and lovers never
parted.

These are the days

she climbs the speaker, leaps
toward me. I might catch her
so she won’t need me
less.

Her purr an engine
rumbling smooth
under her tongue
over the smoky sway
of our collective
bodies swarming,
warming together like this.

I wonder if she sees me here
wonder if the cry
in her lyric sheds from a single dark wish
to be heard.
I’m at the bar,
shoe soles sticking to the floor
it’s cement, lava,
fire licking my inhibition

alive. If whiskey were goodbye
I’ll never see her again.