BJ Armstrong

she rolls a cigarette,
licking the paper,
and I instantly hate her,
but she is beautiful
and the sound of the beach
says something to my drunk heart.

the night will go past the night
and return with the morning,
in borrowed rooms
with lovely, dusty light,
giving romance a texture.

she hands me the whiskey
and gives me her lips,
then takes her clothes off,
reminding my why I am here,
and why now is now.

legs and legs,
leading my mouth up south,
banal but better than nothing
and better than Brooklyn. 

Saturday night on the town
turned into this and the ocean,
the boulevard of blondes
with the blues,
and me with the booze:
right place right time,
perfect for forgetting.

tomorrow will be fine
and gone
and we will all live on.