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deepundergroundpoetry.com

87 shades of lipstick

We had that thing
 
and you grabbed me  
by the face,  
and rubbed my  
lipstick across my cheek  
with your thumb  
 
I was so sick with need  
I couldn’t make eye contact.  
 
You told me to clean up  
my own fucking messes  
 
So I sank down,  
skinning one knee
on the pavement.

My long brown hair  
toweled off the  
come on your stomach,    
and my tongue did the rest.  
 
You nodded as you helped me  
back up  
sure that I’d learned  
my lesson  
and stop throwing it  
at you like that.  
 
But I still couldn’t make  
eye contact,  
and the way  
my lipstick stained your  
shaft was pure  
art.  
 
We’ll have that thing.  
 
Again.  
 
Because I have 87 shades  
of lipstick.
Written by Betty
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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