Bin so looong I've forgotten Howl!

One lip
One tip
over…
And she’s a fallen:
Wo…

Smoking in the dark;
her shadow lick their pores
Their skin
sees her reflection
But, she,
Fades…
soaked in doubt
She is a badly mixed shooter on a Sunday night!

Framed like the art work she is.
in motion she is
A stumbling, bumbling fool

She catches glances like olive branches
Then drops them careless in her pocket.
Half scatter to the pavement
The rest are lost on the subway home!