Lips

She flipped down her vanity mirror
With manicured fingers, tipped with acrylic nails.
Light turned on, she watched her reflection as she
Lifted the pale pink lipstick level to her mouth.
Waited for the car to slow
Before dabbing the color onto already glossed lips.
Brightening up an old face
Creased with age, darkened with sun.

In my head I pictured my own mouth
In a passionate kiss with him, seven years my senior.
Naturally plump lips, pink tongues, young, blemish-free skin.
Thought, "I don't want to get old"
Before pulling my knees onto the seat,
Tucking my chin between them,
And picturing more kisses,
Projected on the blank canvases behind my eyelids.



Poetry by Katherinee x
Read 804 times
Written on 2012-01-15 at 06:20

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Brian Oarr
I very much enjoyed this vignette poem. You definitely have a poet's mind, Katherine. I especially liked the way you ended the piece, sticking the landing.

I want to see your obvious talent grow ... in your next piece try to work in some metaphor. Remember, poetry must always strive to ascend to a higher plane of language and visualzation.

I'll be reading,
Brian
2012-01-15