Sun reflecting softly along slender
leaves of Venetian blinds recalls sleek pearl
necklace tiers binding her throat, its tender
skin soft and clean as cold cream. In her world
where only mere matter seemed to matter
eyes traced clothed bodies for vulnerable
traces in each motion, each pause. What her
jewelry cost was vital, venerable.
She moaned, “Lover bring me a scotch, will you?”
I moseyed to club’s bar, ordered Macallan
and a black and tan. Downed my sacred brew
like water, kissed the sky, spun round to scan
the glittering crowd. Saw her hug some fair-
haired billionaire. I walked out and left her there.
Roger Armbrust
April 20, 2020
