her name is Vivienne, double "N", and she drinks double vodka and cokes, holding her friend in her arms, and closing her eyes. she's there for the music, for the dancing and the blue light pooling on her skin, whitening her smile. she makes shadow puppets on the wall during intermissions, clutching the black bar straw in her teeth, and holding it in her mouth like a cherry stem. she's not afraid of the men who glance her way, touching her own skin and daring them to come. she's full and vivid, "perhaps the last Vivienne left" and she's only there for the music, for the love of it, and she doesn't dress up nice for the band, but she does watch the drummer, willing him to read her eyes, because they're filled with something he'll like.
her name is Vivienne and she's not at all like me. but I am her. she is me magnified. for you, I will become her, rings on my fingers, perfume in my hair. I will be your girl named Vivienne.
YOU ARE READING
jolie memphis
PoetrySuzanne led me over to the gap, that pale opaque liquid seeping into my skin-honey, I realised. she leaned in close, voice warm and soft, the scent of aniseed on her breath. you can be anyone you want, she whispered. I closed my eyes. who are yo...
