Categories
love poetry

An Ode to a Barista

Her skin looked like Italian marble — creamy white, with, just under the translucent epidermis residing, intricate wiring of delicate bluish veins, like some subdermal, nonchalantly applied tattoos, while its apparent softness made the velvety surface of rose petals feel like sandpaper. At least, that was what my eyes discerned in a lick of a second: me standing in front of the counter, she with a smile regurgitating the by the franchise mandated customer interaction script.