Lipstick

He sat there,
Staring at the glass…
Austrian crystal.

A beautiful goblet.
Full balloon.
Paper thin artistry.

The sumptuous legs of that rich,
Napa Cabernet still clung to the sides,
Straining to hold their place in time.

Then his gaze settled on the more meaningful.

There, imprinted on the wisp of crystal,
Was a perfect mark.

Her lipstick remained…

The supple, fullness of her…
Exposed.

Just the sight made his pulse race,
Not only his mind remembered, but his heart as well,
That trace of her lips, moistened by the wine
Highlighted by the glisten of the crystal,
All bringing back, in a wave of emotion,
The first time his lips tasted the same.

Softness, glory,
Sensuality.

There.

Framed for his eyes to consume,
His body to long for,
His very soul to hunger, and long for…

Again.

 

© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

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