A Solitare Rose: ~ Clubs ~

A Solitaire Rose: ~ Clubs ~

Smoke that hangs in the market of passion
taking the hand that is dealt you in rations.
Drinks with umbrellas to shots that are clear
strangle the doubt and kick out the fears.

She walked in with a mini-skirt grin
silken soft ride of shear legs from heaven.
Her skirt hugging her hips like red lip stick
cornering the bar and stooled up a saddle sit.

Breast perk pump up and a hand hair wave
looking at a stranger in the strangest of ways.
Her finger toiling with round the rim ring rubs
sitting at the starting gate, hunting the clubs.

Liquid courage for the tense and thirsty
waiting at the troft, her cup of liquid mercury.
Her eyes scan the room for a face that glows
a hunter of sensual passion, a Solitare Rose.