Your face feels different when it showcases a swipe of lipstick.
Your hands feel different when they clutch a tube of lipstick.
You are a different woman,
Now a lady, in fact.
Instantly more beautiful, more glamourous;
A classic with added dignity, enhanced elegance.
You become the paragon of femininity,
Join the beauty icons in the lipsticked hall of fame.
You become a force to be reckoned with in the glory of womanly arts.
You become the dream of so many people, young and old, around the world.
You are the symbol of a lady, any era, any nation- you are a queen now.
You have become an artist of the highest, boldest, most powerful caliber.

Beach shell varnished, kerosene,
A crack in coastal stain glass window, like a hair across the face
Disrupting the vast porcelain
“you’ve got a hair on your face, let me just”
and then it takes the lipstick with it,
a line printed like a paper cut,
“where’s the razor? Where did you put it?”
I put it in the bin and try and not seem too desperate.
We bundle into a car
Like some odd kind of sleepover.
A plaque on the wall saying the current prime minister opened it back in the day.
The old building is cracking like sedimentary rock in reverse.
The lemon lime and bitters clink in the bag and
I can almost convince myself it’s a summers day packing to go
Off to the beach, running down
With a picnic blanket
Sand in shoes
Tinkling down like an egg timer.
Seals, odd floppy babies about to bark,
The tussock a balding old man, spattered across the dunes
“let’s get icecream”
“let’s get fish and chips”
“let’s get out and stop take a photo”
the wind whipping your hair at your face
flicking icream off the cone onto your face,
why is it all so messy?
Let’s got to kākanui, let’s go to moeraki
Let’s stop to get a coffee.
You sure it’s safe to drive, this tired?
Let’s stop and have a nap.

You good to go?
Yeah
You sure?
Yup

I glanced at an old polaroid of us,
it belonged on the corner
of my writing desk
months ago

I don’t know how fond memories
are becoming so distant,
how the colors are fading
from warm to dull

like I won’t remember
anything, soon

even red lipstick
leaves a mark on your skin
when you try to wipe it off
and you’re left with
a cherry stain

Red lipstick–
The door ajar
to your sensuality
well concealed
behind your cold
–humility

"I didn't feel ready,"
She uttered, holding steady
To a coffee cup with a lipstick stain
That she rubbed off on another train
With hair disheveled and eyes aglow
She recounts times when she said "no"
To boys and men that crawled their way
Into her bed some other day
She laughs with pride
And steps outside
Grasping her girlfriend's hand.

She's the girl with the matte lipstick,
Deep, bold red that flows in her veins
She throws them fierce on her fragile lips
Warning every man she's more than a kiss.

She's the girl with the matte lipstick
A deeper red than the roses she was given,
One look at the mirror and she's all set
To rule out the world with her head set high.

And she will be stronger than you and I,
For her soul is clinquant with
glittery gold
Of fading scars and past mistakes
That she will one day conquer all on her own.

The girls wear lipstick - red or black. They wear it for themselves or at times so like dogs or war criminals they can mark their territory.

thank you for showing me
that high heels are useless
unless you strut -
so ill reapply my lipstick,
kiss the mirror instead of you,
and move on.