Stepping out of Boots with a
rainbow of reds on the back of
my hand. Scarlet swatches,
poppy pantones. Like tiny
cuts, or exquisite scars.
Leaving lip-stains on
napkins and filters,
red traces on glasses
and suddenly, kisses
are visible, their
transience made
more permanent.
Heart shaped smudges
on cheeks like calling
cards, saying, last night,
for a brief moment,
somebody loved me.
If only boys wore it too.
I'd have more than a
memory to remind me of
you.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
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