Lipstick stains thin pale
Porcelain,
Smudged and melting
From heat and steam.
It smears ivory, scarlet with
Its glossy finish.
Dainty details painted with a
Careful hand,
Lace lined floral in blue,
Overshadowed by the
Chamomile tea
That overflowed the lip of your
China,
The tea tag is damp,
Hanging limply from the string,
The smell lingers in the air
Almost
As prominently as your bold
Makeup in my memory.
Passing your house,
I can smell the heavy perfume
And feel the frizzy hair on my
Shoulder
From your fleeting embrace.
There was an estate sale,
Your tea tin was sold,
Your china in bubble wrap filled
Boxes.
I kept your vermillion lipstick.
It sits hauntingly on my vanity.
I wear it when I want to talk to
you in the mirror.