The smoke rises in clouds and sits thick in the air
A journey short
Pushed from the lungs of whiskey filled patrons
Of the smoke filled bar
The toe tap of leather shoes against bar-stools
Tipped hats
The nodding heads of the rugged patrons
To the flamenco guitar
The cigar butts rest, stubbed out in clay pots
Shadows cast
The hatted faces of the cologne soaked patrons
Eyes on the door, ajar.
The music permeates and inspires idle banter
Hushed voiced
The suited bodies of the handsome patrons
The morning still far
The flicker of candles dance across the walls
No windows
The heart breaking smiles of the mysterious patrons
Await me; patient and dark
In that smoke filled bar.
