Winter isn’t cold here
It’s like Sunday in front of the fire
Expensive liquor and
Love floating all around
Sounds breaking apart the mahogany
Dripping down the walls
And lifting up the edges
Of the well polished atmosphere
I’ve given in to the long coats
The ones with fur lining
My grandfather handed down
Brought from old Russia
In solid chests on the backs of horses
I’ve slumbered around with
Expensive cocktails with bow ties
Suspenders and alchemy dripping down the walls
A time of surreal magic
Pushing out between the breasts
Of well dressed ladies
I’ll take two for the road sir
Tuck them under my outstretched coattails
And push them down with essence
Tugging tightly at my cufflinks
Trail of broken hearts and glitter
Follows me out the back door into the evening air