Galleria Santa Monica,
White wash walls,
High ceiling, dim lights.
Bunch of pricks,
In black and glasses peruse.
Three feature pieces,
Tamed Dames of the big city.
A bit gruesome, but they love the realism
Or so they say as they cringe.
Wine, almost as sweet
As the nectar of life fills the room.
Licking my lips, gaze drifting
Her smile crashes into me.
Sweet cherry blouse hides
A golden badge.