deepundergroundpoetry.com
lipstick stains
it’s a dreary night. the kind of a night that cries, ‘cause
the moon is having a sordid affair in another part of the sky.
one of those vagrant nights where bad things murmur & prowl.
I take refuge in Rose’s All-Night café. hot coffee from a pot
that never runs dry, & nobody has a history they want to share,
so they stay quiet.
the waitress is late cleaning the counter spot next to mine, &
I stare too long at the red half smile on the embarrassed white
mug, an inch of tawny brew lingering in its basin.
right away she is back in my head, the woman whose name I no
longer speak; it’s too dirty to be repeated this side of hell. she
had a passion for men of a certain shadiness. it was the chess
match, the gamble, that attracted her; who was quicker on the
draw, get in deeper & break a heart…
her calling card said don’t ever love me, but don’t ever forget me.
some bastard must have hurt her serious once, so she made every
Casanova that winked at her pay. her cherry lipstick rubbed off easy,
it stained a man’s cheek, his shirt & his soul. she branded me with the
velvet finesse of her fingers, & the firestorm of her body incinerated
me to sizzling ashes. I kissed her hard even as I crumbled.
I pull away from the lipstick stained heartache at last, & worry my
reflection in the wet window. these rambling nights refuse to write
the final chapter that will finish me, & the forty weight is never deep
enough to drown in…
Published 9th Jan 2015
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likes 16
reading list entries 2
comments 16
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Anonymous
9th Jan 2015 2:34am
must have been one hell of a woman. it's amazing what a lipstick stain can make you think. excellent, wooing, write. :)
9th Jan 2015 2:48am
a sensual write that seems full of passion and regret.. excellent with love Crim
"Nobody has a history they want to share." I'm enjoying what I read of yours, at least the hints contained in these lines. Noir at its best.
9th Jan 2015 5:48am
9th Jan 2015 7:18am
you walk the tenuous balance between fatalist & romantic with such wonderful results.
achingly lovely, as always Mister Feddeler
achingly lovely, as always Mister Feddeler
9th Jan 2015 7:50am
Creative good storytelling
anyone want advice about writing a good story
be sure to know ill send them your way John
xD
anyone want advice about writing a good story
be sure to know ill send them your way John
xD
9th Jan 2015 7:51am
this lipstick stains of hers has a self-revenging shade that goes on exponentially breaking her ownself, irrespective of others broken or not. the story rather puts such feminine characters in delicate limelight than the narrative's heavy emotions n bitter looking back. always i do grasp more unsaid things from ur btfl verses, JF. Tq fr this read:)
9th Jan 2015 7:59am
"her calling card said don’t ever love me, but don’t ever forget me"
👆love that line. Good write as always John
👆love that line. Good write as always John
9th Jan 2015 8:35am
Anonymous
9th Jan 2015 12:42pm
"I kissed her hard even as I crumbled"
Damn. I keep coming back to this piece. Very well done.
Damn. I keep coming back to this piece. Very well done.
9th Jan 2015 3:20pm
Facinating prose poem full of passion and internal ire :-)
excellent Ink :-)
excellent Ink :-)
9th Jan 2015 5:48pm
Truly amazing write...
first stanza draws you in for the stained lips that brushed your heart...
love this JohnFeddeler...
first stanza draws you in for the stained lips that brushed your heart...
love this JohnFeddeler...
12th Jan 2015 1:51pm
Those burning memories that haunt are the best reflections to worry on. I love this ink. It's always a pleasure being transported into your worlds. ❤
26th Feb 2015 00:32am
What I love about your poems, I can keep coming back to them and find something new. They inspire me to be a better writer. Fingers and legs crossed.
'the firestorm of her body incinerated
me to sizzling ashes'
'the firestorm of her body incinerated
me to sizzling ashes'
Anonymous
- Edited 6th Jan 2016 11:56am
6th Jan 2016 11:47am
<< post removed >>
14th Nov 2016 8:30am
Love this,
'I stare too long at the red half smile on the embarrassed white
mug, an inch of tawny brew lingering in its basin.'
'her calling card said don’t ever love me, but don’t ever forget me.'
The memory of a dangerous woman that lingers like perfume. Beautiful work, John...
'I stare too long at the red half smile on the embarrassed white
mug, an inch of tawny brew lingering in its basin.'
'her calling card said don’t ever love me, but don’t ever forget me.'
The memory of a dangerous woman that lingers like perfume. Beautiful work, John...
