Critique Required Please?

Be Brutal, Be Beautiful, But Most Of All Be Honest.

~Fallen~

She’d had a rye life,

whisky eyes

seen through ice cube charms,

propped up on a bar stool pedestal

accepting only liquid worship -

no chasers for her,

and I caught her eye

as she swept the bump ‘n’ grind persona

of Friday night whores,

draped Dali like across wide-boys arms.

Her half moon smile

tainted by nicotine clouds

as they fought to escape

the confines of an inhale,

and me the rabbit in headlights glare,

tongue tied to this table,

nursing a misplaced conception.

She was slick as she oozed

through the waves of melded bodies,

caught in a chimera of sex and music;

a deep throb within.

Another notch to be nicked

in her playground stick,

a passing phase

in her latest craze,

she was warm in my lap

like a pile of bones before the pyre,

waiting .. just waiting,

and I found I could climb

the ladder of her spine, though her heart

had escaped that cage long ago,

all I could see was my dignity

lying discarded on an unmade bed,

and her proclaiming

“I used to be a lady.”