Lips Conquer Cliché

A Poem by Amber Lea Starfire, ©2006

Firm and red, like cherries,
deep-purple as plums, or
juicy-ripe as pomegranates;
perhaps, yes.

Sometimes also, dry
as crepe paper tulips,
crinkled and bleeding color
at the edges,
pale as hot sand.

Wet with tongue, darting
unconsciously out-and-in,
such thin, milky-pink accents
compressed to angry
invisibility.

Over-botoxed-bloated,
warm and whisper dry, or
quickly-licked while anxious,
the color of lipstick
scraped by white teeth.

Calm and quiet,
they rest peacefully, like
gravestones on the face, now open,
gaping a surprise
of pink and red.

Frowning-sad, like clown-faced masks, or
grinning-wide, with
bone-hued teeth
exposed to view, or
tight with envy.

If eyes are windows to the soul,

lips are doorways to the heart.

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