Patchouli & Leather

She smelled of patchouli and leather when the whim of lust hit me
But she was gone by the time I turned around
I’ve been searching for a boy whose soul smoked endless cigarettes in jazz bars
And greeted the sun at sidewalk cafes
And I found a man who wrote poetry with his heart across exploding sunset horizons
But didn’t write any of it down
And now he whispers music to me on the water at sunrise
But we never set foot in that poetic bar
Or that tortured coffeehouse
And something on the air tells me they closed their doors years ago
And all that remain are the anonymous boarded windows
Plastered with new distractions
And a hint of patchouli floating in on the tip of evening