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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2083134
X walks into a bar.

She Wanted a Smile

With lightning in her hair,

She broke the saloon door, split

The attention in the bar

Carried iron with a grin

That forced her fingertips loose,

Pointed index

A prophet's remorse

On the lucky winner

To covet her blue gaze,

Seemingly steadied on her beer

That bubbled her hearthstone with pride,

Dull orange, yellow blood

She spat at the bartender

Demanding a refund

From the young man to her left.

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