Rosalyn Marhatta

The blonde on the red barstool
jiggles her creamsicle shoulders,
shimmies her spun sugar hips;
pouts her raspberry lips
promising kisses,
unfurls her mane of curls
from a rubber band,
flickers black velvet eyes
where fire resides,
flaunts sequin splendor
and bugle beads dangling
from a neckline that vanishes
around her navel
marking a path to pleasure
beyond scotch on the rocks.