A woman sits on the bar stool next to him,
Sipping on a glass of Jim Beam whiskey and Sprite,
Smelling sweet like bittersweet honeysuckles
From that bush outside her childhood church.
A Marlboro slate cigarette in her mouth
That he lights with a match from her purse,
Smelling like a mini campfire.
She breathes in the menthol,
A bitterness like burnt mint leaves
Meant to garnish an extravagant meal
That she burnt in the kitchen
When she got distracted by him.
She breathes out a cloud of smoke
That rolls out like a storm
Smelling of nostalgia.
He remembers when she first tried one
At a bonfire when she was wine drunk and young.
She was angry, going to the bottle for numbness
After a fight with her mother.
She bummed a cigarette off him
And had to be taught how to smoke it.
She couldn’t even light it by herself
Without burning her fingers.
She breathed it in, a knot tight in her throat,
A nicotine high making the world spin,
A turntable of numbness from the feeling,
Breathing out apathy with no regret.
Now she smiles at him with dark red lips as if painted with blood,
A mischievous sparkle in her eyes like the diamonds on her left hand.
She orders a strawberry martini as he orders another pitcher of beer.
Revisiting the past in a bar both of them know well.
It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?
She grabs his hand and drags him after her,
Her long dress spinning to the music,
Daisies spun in the hand of a flower girl.
She sings all while he watches her.
She’s still ferociously adorable,
Even when she tries to be an adult.
She can’t hide it around him,
Giggling as they dance
Like they did on their wedding day.