The Observatory

i'll admit
i came for the booze --
a liquor
whose fragrance
wafted and whirled
through a room
of grotesque, mummified things.
a fragrance that
morphed into a curled finger,
beckoning me,
enticing me,
to ogle the color of her hair:
pink like the jarred worms,
encapsulated in formaldehyde.
the sweetness
of anise
and licorice
pulled my wallflower taste buds
off my tongue-floor
to waltz
the way we would
on a crowded dance floor
in a dive bar
during Prohibition.

i now know why
Van Gogh himself
lost an ear
to the luscious green
concoction:
his senses
squished together
craving clear air,
the way we did
in a dive bar
during Prohibition.