I glanced at an old polaroid of us,
it belonged on the corner
of my writing desk
months ago

I don’t know how fond memories
are becoming so distant,
how the colors are fading
from warm to dull

like I won’t remember
anything, soon

even red lipstick
leaves a mark on your skin
when you try to wipe it off
and you’re left with
a cherry stain

Red lipstick–
The door ajar
to your sensuality
well concealed
behind your cold
–humility

"I didn't feel ready,"
She uttered, holding steady
To a coffee cup with a lipstick stain
That she rubbed off on another train
With hair disheveled and eyes aglow
She recounts times when she said "no"
To boys and men that crawled their way
Into her bed some other day
She laughs with pride
And steps outside
Grasping her girlfriend's hand.

She's the girl with the matte lipstick,
Deep, bold red that flows in her veins
She throws them fierce on her fragile lips
Warning every man she's more than a kiss.

She's the girl with the matte lipstick
A deeper red than the roses she was given,
One look at the mirror and she's all set
To rule out the world with her head set high.

And she will be stronger than you and I,
For her soul is clinquant with
glittery gold
Of fading scars and past mistakes
That she will one day conquer all on her own.

The girls wear lipstick - red or black. They wear it for themselves or at times so like dogs or war criminals they can mark their territory.

thank you for showing me
that high heels are useless
unless you strut -
so ill reapply my lipstick,
kiss the mirror instead of you,
and move on.

War paint I always found unnecessary:
Gloss for manicured lipstick commercial princesses
Not of my kind.

And though I walk with shield, I am without armour:
Ramparts mere cheekbones,
Bare skin impressionable as snow.

Boot-print,
The mark I hated. My characters:
Frail tree rings, exposed to the chill night air.

Gold inlay frozen solid.
The fairly bound dream factory
Lies purple with melancholy.



It’s the world’s bruise. It colours sudden,
Shadowing the other side of the room
Where it paused, rare moth

Lighted upon my dark reflection,
A Mona Lisa dressed in black
And reminiscent of bobby sox.

Beauty without fanfare.
Stuff of woods: we do not glitter.
We don’t call out.

Our tongues are both dumbstruck bells.
Shy rabbits, we fold within ourselves
And sequester our secret pulp.

My lips are thin
like the cheap sheets
we slept under last night.
Noses cold and pressed together,
transforming the AC into waves
and ourselves into nobodies.

Nobody sees me punish my lips
for being so small and disappointing .
Tiny pale flakes lie lifeless
on the barely pink slits;
a testimony of my brutality
and the precision of my teeth.
..........................................................­..

Teeth clenched and eyes wide,
I hold the goods in my palm.
Firecracker, Ravish Me Red, Red Door Red.
Ravish Me Red sounds like a good time,
so Ravish Me Red it is.
but I wish I had a fourth.

Four minutes until I see you.
You're always exact.
The clock pleads for me,
but I'm busy glaring at
the familiar rouge strangers on my face
that I can't deny are mine.

My teeth try and fail to resist
The taste of my scarlet-smeared skin
they gnaw and gnaw at their treat,
dressing themselves in Ravish Me Red.
They refuse to be satisfied
until they taste blood.

Blood doesn't match my ruby lipstick
It's smudgy and ugly and I am ashamed.
My face is wet when I open the door.
You ask what's wrong, but you already know.
Through your smile I hear,
"Red isn't really your color."

Color now on your wrists and nose and knees
The red marks you as mine.
It fades from me to you
and leaves my lips naked
but you kiss the tiny pale flakes
that I used to hate.