Lipstick

I follow you
shiny cap of
black hair
sanguine lips
perched on a lovely face.
I stand beside you
and watch in the mirror
as another slash of red
is applied.

I glance at myself
a bleached canvas
beside your
Technicolor gloss,
you smile
and hand me
your lipstick
as if you know
what I am
thinking.

Gnarled blue-veined
hands, shakily add
the shimmering blush,
a splash of life
in a spiritless face.


copyright Sherry Obsheatz