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.