Maryline Roux

Red Lipstick

Artwork—Jacques Vettriano

I turn my head

for just a glimpse

of her

and her lipstick


I wonder

who will lose his gaze

in her timid eyes

after dusk.

 

Will her lips leave red lines,

like vermillion imprints

on a French red wine glass

or will the pavement tremble

under the walk of her high heels?

 

She-is-herself—just older 

than yesterday;  

just bolder—than tomorrow  

 

Old days are gone; 

what else is left 

beside running away  

from what she knew? 

a mirror holding lost memories. 

 

I lay there in bed and stare 

at her grace and feminine ways 

frozen in time . . . 

 

. . . like a statue wanting a kiss 

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