Lipstick

In the dark, I knocked over

a few things you left behind:

the year-old perfume you never sprayed,

tweezers still trapped in plastic casing,

blush, foundation, mascara, eyeshadow—

bought but never used in your life.

It’s all new, everything you bought that day,

except for the tube of red lipstick.

You smeared a little bit before heading out,

smacked your lips, glanced in the mirror,

took one last look at your face, satisfied,

before closing the door behind you.

Never to wear that lipstick again.