Grapevine nail polish
Dripping from her glass
As fingers rap in rhythm
With her mascara lashes.
Scenes seem to change
with the bat of an eyelid,
Inking tears and memories
together into an esoteric wine.
Sitting at a table
where nobody waits,
Legs crossed,
Stilettoed high,
On hopes of blissful bewilderment,
She raises a toast
To violet moments.
No comments:
Post a Comment