“I need a poem about a lovely girl I met in a bar over a clove cigarette.
I help her hand through the crowded bar and listened to acoustic music till we were too drunk to walk.
Thanks.”

She smelled like my smoke,
and walked like my booze.
Everyone knows her,
in the easy acoustic notes
that billow in every bar.
Well, last night she was mine.

The crowd let us escape
from the days that don’t let go,
so we could talk about nothing
and feel more than anything.