Archpoetry

It was with a swing in her step

from a generous dole of wine,

that she walked up to the door,

a door that was mine.

A lilt in her voice,

and a giggle here and then,

but she was running for her life,

from two burly men.

She stumbled right through,

dropping the bottle from her hand,

and collapsed on the couch,

barely able to stand.

A whimper of sorts,

and a very long tale,

she finally slept,

succumbed to the ale.

Movies in abundance,

about time she screamed,

I woke into a headboard,

I have such ugly dreams.