The lipstick slid on but not right.
Where was the sticky-slick sweetness?
The quiet perfume that spoke of its expense?
Piled into the bra, her tits looked okay,
but released they were not right.
Empty, sullen, as if someone else
had worn and mistreated them.
She picked up her keys,
amazed they did not slide
through the mirage of her hand.
Snapping shut the something
masquerading as a purse,
she looked up at the clock with no tick
to begin another day of the dead.
Leave a Reply