Southern Honey

Crystals of glass shimmer like a stemmed globe in the sun. Only classy people drink wine. A sweet sting on my tongue, the cold air ripping through pulpy cotton. Like the sharp lingering smell of fancy cheese. The smoothness of an eye’s flutter and hot brushed cheeks of nervous red inviting him to savor a punch. We thought we were grownups in Covington. Classy people aren’t the only ones who drink wine. Two kids playing grownups do, too. We ran around like idiots crumbling to the velvet glazed sod. Exhausted from laughing, we never had to say a word. Mother Nature smothered his lungs, turned them to soot. But we drift into the clouds when it rains. I have the charm of a foal. We fall into spring skipping through the prickly bristles of sunlight painting our hair a tinge of grey. Our puckered lips and tongues so fuzzy with the bitter tang of golden honey.

Jena Pendarvis

Hello lovelies! I am a creative artist and my life is inspired by any outlet that allows me to express myself. You can find out more about me on my blog


David Redpath · February 17, 2018 at 10:26 am

I’m not classy , yet I appreciate your Southern Honey
… Golden !

    Jena Pendarvis · February 17, 2018 at 7:41 pm

    Thank you so much! I’m not classy either. The wine drinkers where I live definitely are..ha!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.