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๐—ช๐—ต๐—ถ๐˜๐—ฒ ๐—ข๐˜ƒ๐—ฎ๐—น

๐˜ฃ๐˜บ ๐˜—๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜”๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ช๐˜ค



She sat at the bar, white powder on her face,

Red lipstick, eyeshadow, her hair dark,

Pulled back tight in a single braid at the back.

She wore a tight black dress. The bar

Was shaped like a horseshoe. On the other side

I sat staring, stealing a glance at her.

Sheโ€™d never looked that vivacious, that alluring.

Weโ€™d been lovers. Right from the start

I wanted her to divorce her husband and marry me.

It began in May, abruptly in July she ended it.

We didnโ€™t talk anymore, not even hello and goodbye.

Every so often Iโ€™d see her in her Augmented

Reality station or in her Camera Array.

That Friday night at the bar, a Venerian cocktail

In front of her, she looked stupendous.

Iโ€™d never seen her looking that good. Her face

White, dark hair pulled back in a long braid,

Dress tight and black, her eyes and lips colored

To complement her white face. She was all black

And white, astonishingly gorgeous, exotic,

Alluring, not saying a word, haunting.




Peter Mladinicโ€™s poems have recently appeared in Ariel Chart, Detour Ahead, Home Planet News, Bluepepper and other online journals. He lives with six dogs in Hobbs, New Mexico.

Speculative fiction & POETRY ZINE
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