Extreme Indigo
By M. L. Stephenson


The summer breeze blew warm on that night long ago,
The moon was high and his spirits were low,
He wondered into the bar and sat down in a chair,
The foul odor of cigarettes hung thick in the air,
The bartender walked over and asked, “what’ll it be?
A beer, hard liquor or just sympathy?”
He ordered a beer, walked over and stood by the bar,
And watched the bartender pour it while he chewed on an unlit cigar,
The room became quiet as she walked through the door,
He turned, saw that face, and oh, what she wore!
Her dress was deep blue, extreme indigo,
It caught his attention and wouldn’t let go,
Her hair silky jet-black flowed long down her back,
With eyes jade green, the deepest shade ever seen,
His brain raced fast, for the moment wouldn’t last,
There was a pause when he spoke as he thought he might choke,
The words finally came out, and she slowly turned about,
Then as their eyes met the magic was set,
They danced all through the night, till the break of daylight,
Then men watched with glares as she led him upstairs,
To a room dark with shades drawn to keep out the dawn,
She stopped before him, pulled her hair to one side,
He reached for the zipper and down her back it did glide,
She pulled the straps from her shoulders and then let go,
And it fell to the floor, the dress of extreme indigo,
They made love in a fashion with such pure passion,
So tender, so sweetly, so very completely,
All through the day they loved in this way,
Then as the night spun its charms she slept in his arms,
When he awoke she was gone; left a memory and moved on,
He has grown old and gray but often thinks back to that day
Back to that time of pure passion so long ago,
And the woman who wore the dress of extreme indigo.

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