I see my Pearly Queen daily,
As soon as the Angelus bells first ring
When first the tired moon makes way for the anxious sun.
The jaded expression upon her face matches her flat, dime store cologne’s smell.
For now, she wanders patiently past the tea shops, waiting for the iron doors of her only available consolation to open.
Then she can see her earlier happier reflection in her brew, while watching the steam waft in all directions, as the dust keeps its place upon her out of style clothing.