Flâneuse from aus

I wait for wayfarer in candlelight,
the glow turns darkness into her black fur,
young ears listen to tales of fight or flight,
Fingers on her cards, drink tarot liqueur,
ignore the clock. At last, her worn apron
appears alone. I see mountain men flock.
Milkmaid braids of kindly reputation,
found in an embrace of pummelling rock.
Smoke upon my cheek, draw a weathered card:
The Two of Cups for crimson soaking through,
soft incense slips beneath my laughter guard.
Wayfarer holds me near and whispers true,
words gentle, clean up tears and blood of years,
shared stories salve our lurking pains and fears.