At the bar.

A slender rachis balanced atop round shapely mounds, her back a seductive prelude.

Eyes wide as saucers soulful as a doe’s, reflected on glistening cherry lips; her face a bewitching spell.

Beware my son, tis not wine that glazes her lips.

three line tales week 27 – red cherries
Copyright Inma Ibáñez                  

Written for Sonya’s TLT – week Twenty seven.

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