Yes. Poem by Cheyenne Rhon

This girl in a black cocktail dress,
Sat next to me.
Swayed across the scuffed tile,
With her cup of diluted tea,
And sat next to me.
Was it her dark expressive brows?
No, it was her curled mouth,
That made her seem a bit off,
But she sat next to me.
She didn't even ask though,
Was her presence impolite?
No, she meant well,
In the red booth that night.
Why was she dressed so nice?
But I don't care because,
She sat next to me.
There were no names,
But I did exchange a fry.
We were both, so young
Maybe that's why,
She sat next to me.
Then she just left,
Did it even matter?
To me yes.