I am your favorite red lipstick that got away, the expensive one your mother gave you because she had an extra. I used to grip the sheen of your swears, while you pressed me against dinner napkins before meals. I know the words you'd like to say, the curses you'd breathe. I taste your grief. You want me to return, you won't come to terms with the thought that I might think I just look a little better on her pallid pallid skin. You've inhaled spores today, it's your day off and you're trying to forget you ever lost me. Writhing with our friends. You're afraid of blood. But you love the sauce. Your skin is crimson, flushed from the heat. What a shock to know, it was you that came on a little too strong.