Evian Bottle and '50s Magazine

Lily-pad smile of lower-case sign
Dips red “V” into an expensive distillmint

Creases arch like pacific waves, heavens protrude from
Blue wrist of animated peaks
She squeezes and bottle cracks, “French Alps” with a ginger lisp

Sun-tanned pages crisp like clink of 50 cents
Letters swoosh like flapper tassels, now floss for
Iceberg-ed teeth.

Dwarfed bottle misted with age-old shimmers
Chipped ends on that feminine reliance
That dry-ice melt-down, pulsing up through bitten spine.

Blonde-hair bloomers hover like clouds
Over no longer French, Alps