The Lipstick's Muse Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Why do you want to be human?
Asked the lipstick’s Muse.

Their conscience is like a cochlear implant
They are glued to work
For fun, they kick a leather ball or fornicate
Lust makes them jig like a fish on a bent hook

Whereas you are a slider, a glider
Slipping out from your glamorous metal sheath
To smear their lips like sweet fudge, melting

Paste can shine the dirtiest brass
Makeup is about identity, you were carefully christened.

You were not named Whipped Caviar
Dissolved in Dreams,
Pinky Nude Sinner
Or Catfight

Truffle Tease….that suits you to a T.