I thought about you sitting across the bar
and how she looked at you that night,
running her hands across your face,
coaxing your drunken laughs
and spinning the same narrative of her life, an old cliche by now

You don't know what I know.
You are so trusting,
and she will dispose of you in an instant,
you evanescent Polaroid in her encyclopedic scrapbook of men,
treating you as she had the rest

Vixen, vixen, she had you smitten
I could say nothing, do nothing