It was the ricochet of midnight
when she boarded the train,
a squall wading through isolation.
Her bones moaned
as the wind wore her wrinkles
like a soft coat of fur,
verses searched her eyes.
bottled up fermented beer waiting to explode
and submerge the streets with its chronicle.
Every inch of tongue longed for rains
of almond and vanilla to purge
the bitter taste of day after day.
Thinking about Silenus,
his understanding of life and death,
she let her limpness sway
from the door of the ladies coupe.
If only the end was so simple.
even death couldn't be her own.