A Grotesque Narrative of Lipsticks

'There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.' –Edith Wharton

Hot breath steams the mirror,
obliterating the view.
Her mind is fluctuating, when seeing
the simulacrum
of two perfectly framed lipsticks
flickers thru the vapour.—

What to wear?
The red or the pink?
—A dilemma!!

Passages
from Umberto Eco’s On Beauty
begin to reverberate in her mind.

Waves of hot breath have come again.
{Rites of passage…}
Standing in front of the mirror: There’s no escape.—
The dilemma, again!!

A theory of aesthetics start fermenting in her mind
as her fingers start contouring those lush lips.
& yeasts of progressive post-modern poetry start glittering
on her glossy rubies.—A gateway to the fathomless…

Lipstick is not a luxury.
Lipstick is a (tiny) text. {It is hard to write, but at least it’s quick.}
Lipstick is a perfectly written haiku
{distilled & distilled & distilled till} decoding
all feminine reMorse Codes.{till the mirror shatters}