Lola At Coat Check

They came for a secret show and met the girl with secrets. There were whispers on lips from behind velvet ropes, but her name was only uttered in love letters or curses. She was Lola.  She would take your coat. She would hang it, and slip inside its pocket a small white chocolate, a surprise for 4am. She ate cream caramels from shiny wrappers, and took her gin with a grapefruit twist. She would touch your arm gently as you told her your darkest, a moment of softness and razor-edged nails. You’d see her through drapes, through tiered chandeliers, through spirals of sandalwood smoke. Her blunt bob, her gapped teeth, her lily tattoo. Her glance, a silver dagger that might slide through the heart as she slipped a sweet treat in your jacket.