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.