Walking Woman Dreams in Color

That counter goes on,

forever doesn’t it,

pulling it up to us,

after work getting there.

One way or another.

I order a beer to,

wash away the moment,

FrictionMan has a shot of John Jameson,

washing it down with a Guinness Stout.

Arcing my head to the left,

down the empty counter,

there she is again,

Walking Woman drinking alone.

The barren counter,

is the dream,

Walking Woman is the DreamScape,

the stuff of my soul.

What I did not know at that moment,

it would be decades,

before I realized,

It was Jupiter glancing back at me.