Would be a dark bar with out bother.
A bourbon soaked cherry.
A long drag,
a thicker mane,
and a smooth pen.
It’d be a detour with out question.
A compassed hand.
A weathered map.
A loaded camera and a Bulliet manhattan.
I’d have sex with out consequence.
A mother’s wisdom.
The joining of a collective understanding,
to be understood.
And there’d be a spotlight for words.
I’d get a call back,
a second look,
the swift scent of an old book,
and an effortless reflection.
There’d be cash tips,
an orchestra for everything,
and all of it fenceless.