Hollow eyes, shadowed cheeks,
Burns from the cigarette
he let smolder while sleeping;
It was only a butt of a fag,
Found discarded with lipstick
of the previous owner – still
warm – were her lips full?
or thin with too much liner?

He dreamed of lips, kissing
him, finding the burrow
between his grime-streaked neck
and the slouched shoulders.

Dream lips that were not
discriminating, lips that cleansed,
lips that left a sweet perfume
everywhere they kissed him.

Lips in every shade – from the 
daring red of the 50’s starlets 
to the soft pink of young
school girls just learning
what their lips could do.

Dream lips, two accumulations
of flesh bound by purpose,
floating in a face he couldn’t,
and didn’t care to see.

The cigarette burned to 
the filter, yet he continued
to dream, his lips on fire 
from the passion of kisses
granted by her innocent lips.


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