Lipstick

Soft hair
(feathery)
is wisps of smoke in the air.
Polluted breath from
lipsticked lips
opens that door
that I try to keep closed.
So I stare
at the firey-red ecstasy
that I crave.
But is it love?
(maybe.)
We'll see…
And hands/fingers (no!)
slither through my hair
onto my face.
No one knew
(until now.)
and now she knows.
I want some lipstick
on my lips.