Teacup

Lipstick stains thin pale

Porcelain,

Smudged and melting

From heat and steam.

It smears ivory, scarlet with

Its glossy finish.

Dainty details painted with a

Careful hand,

Lace lined floral in blue,

Overshadowed by the

Chamomile tea

That overflowed the lip of your

China,

The tea tag is damp,

Hanging limply from the string,

The smell lingers in the air

Almost

As prominently as your bold

Makeup in my memory.

Passing your house,

I can smell the heavy perfume

And feel the frizzy hair on my

Shoulder

From your fleeting embrace.

There was an estate sale,

Your tea tin was sold,

Your china in bubble wrap filled

Boxes.

I kept your vermillion lipstick.

It sits hauntingly on my vanity.

I wear it when I want to talk to

you in the mirror.