Photo by Taylor Friehl on Unsplash
Her name was Natasha, and she was something else,
shaking martinis behind a wall of water,
Sheer, long-sleeved button-down over a tube top, hot pants, and panty hose—
all black,
face perfectly made up,
hair perfectly messy and up-did
over smoky eyes and pouty lips,
spearing cherries on bamboo skewers,
a goddess pouring libations
for mortals on barstools.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.