Another evening in this dim old car
Nearly no one at the bar.
The scent of oak and bourbon lingers,
She grips the glass with trembling fingers.

But something about her, doesn’t seem quite right
She’s not slurring her words, not in the slight
Despite her having eight in a row
Always looking down, her eyes never show

As we pass through a tunnel, the cabin grows dark
She looks up, her eyes glowing like a spark
The moon returns, the shadows flee
An empty glass is all I see

I wake with a start when the floorboards groan,
Back in my bed, but not quite alone.
She visits in nightmares, a permanent guest,
The spark in the dark never lets me rest.