And She Did
Midnight plush blue drum loops in limbo
and red velvet hookah hazed textures
paint the walls as these angel-headed hipsters
Howl and enjoy a slower slow.
Dimmed fluorescence, hair unwoven, shirt unbuttoned,
she bangs her fist on a newly wet-toweled bar.
In her glass’s reflection
a bourbon tinted piano player is poking away.
Head cocked back, his
fingers recite braile script on the body
of the piano.
His undulating person led by a head
pinned with locked eyes that are tattooed
with agenda – an unearthing stripping
quality underneath each iris like he’s
done this before, like she was his now.
She asks for a smoldering sugar cube
underneath flame to burn her
into an absinthe induced absence of abstinence.
Flexed guzzle in the throat and a slingshot forward.
Face scrunched, tongue disappeared,
eyes tap-dancing – a sour to the mind.
She is moving chess pieces he can’t even play.
Five empty glasses and two empty seats surrounding
her, he lets the last notes trail off and moves in.
Impossibly contrived context to seemingly polite
conversation. His head, again, cocked back. Fingers
poking away and moving up and down the body like
he was playing an encore on thighs, a melody behind the neck.
She was a pair of batted eyes, a set of bit lips, a
moveable tongue clearly looking for elsewhere, a drunk
question disguised in curves. He felt like every answer.
Beautiful women like you shouldn’t be drinking alone.
You should know, you are just so gorgeous.
Here, let me walk you home.
Stilettos hit the floor like his hopes were about to.
She pays for both of their tabs and struts
away, each leg a middle finger dipped in woman.
She moved like jazz, like blue notes, like
a solo sung by scales that fingers like his
would never know how to play.
She wanted to know if she still had it.
About the author:
Namkyu Oh is a Korean-born New Jersey native. He is currently a sophomore at Princeton University, where he studies politics and creative writing.