Clack clack clack;
She marched like a renegade,
Parting her lips with
a promiscuous smack.
denim sleeves upright,
Signs in the air;
Afraid of men and allowed
To speak highly of feminism -
Somehow.

She rallied her army
To prepare for attack:
No wallflowers, all pretty,
But they do not 
matter. They never did.
She was a queen of
roses, cut off their petals.
I was a sunflower but
I liked her nastiness.

Red lipstick and the cruel
slam of brunette curls,
I saw an insecure shadow
painted in crimson
perusing closely behind.
As our eyes passed,
the red lipstick smudged;
became tainted like it
had all just been a vision.
Somehow.