In stained red fabric I take my seat
as doors around me shudder shut.
A bitter stench of sweat and urine
stumbles into the adjacent chair.
Telltale signs of spirits.
He’s standing at the exit,
pouring music from his belt.
Shoulder blades bouncing under his leather jacket,
as he dances with the dapper man outside the door.
He shakes his ass, half exposed,
falling deeper in love with the echo of his beat.
She stood atop the hill
a firm hand on the hilt
her breath withheld.
Their feet – echoes of distant thunder.
Their march – the beat of the Earth.
As they approached, she unsheathed her blade.
It was a weapon unlike anything he’d seen before.
As the setting sun caught the glitter of the hairs,
he realized it was no sword at all,
but the bow of a golden violin.
And in front of all his army,
she began to play.