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Through endless miles of desert night,
His fading headlights were his sight.
He stopped beside a quiet bar,
A place without a sign or star—

And before he stepped inside,
A woman met him in the light.
Her eyes—two sparks that burned too bright—
Cut straight through the weight of night.

They talked a while about her life,
The wounds she carried, all her strife.
She said she’d wandered far from home,
Condemned to roam and roam alone.

As if her gaze could cast a spell,
He followed where her shadow fell.
They left the bar for some cheap place,
Laughing soft in warm embrace.

And as she spoke, he felt the fire—
A pull he couldn’t name as desire.

Who was she, this midnight flame?
Why can’t he recall her name?
A ghost of warmth, a fleeting bliss—
He swears her touch, he swears her kiss.

But when he woke, the bed was cold—
He searched the room, he searched the floor,
He rushed back to that roadside bar,
Who was the girl with me last night

The old man’s face went white and grim.
He poured a drink, stared into him.
“You sat right there for hours long…
But son, you drank that gin alone.

She worked here once—five years it’s been—
And died right where you both drank gin.
A man she trusted led her far…
To that motel beneath the stars.”

Who was she, this midnight flame?
Why can’t he recall her name?
A ghost of warmth, a fleeting bliss—
He swears her touch, he swears her kiss.

She’s a ghost of burning sight,
Wandering through the endless night—
A kiss, a touch, a whispered plea,
A love that lived in memory.
She left her soul…
at the roadside bar.

J. Coronado
Nov 2025