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she's all lipstick
glossy pink hues and eyeliner on lids
pressed darkly on a slant in the midnight hour.
Lips affirming the sweet taste
an exhausting abuse of malignant power.

she's all hips
mesmerizing mystique of an melting
oozing liquidity and familiarity
feminine wiles and the very definition
of what it is to be a beauty, nevertheless.

she's all fingertips
and Bobbi Brown mixed with the zest of Mac
red colors raging mad against
the moon shaped crescents of where originality lies
and the smack of the lips-
she's all stuffed and fluffed
nipples high and gracing the Heavenly skies
spilling out of Victoria's, entering Fredrick's
and amassing on silken sheets unfamiliar
in its territory where she's kissed.

she's all of this and
all of that
perfume laced with toxic pheromones
reeking of danger zones
enter here and exit there
to the south of the navel
to the barren wastelands of innocence

she's all designer this
and label that
whoring out names that don't recollect a face
Jones's that don't spin the earth on her rotation
envy that has the others watching,
and waiting.

she's everything
and nothing, a figurine in Plastic Lands
filled with Barbie mentalities
that had her purchasing her own friends
pink Malibu dreams and picture perfect Ken

she's all lipstick
pressed against the mirror, its reflection
gazing back to thee
she's all woman
wondering when materialization began/her soul ends
and where the line separates
of what truly is
or simply is condemned as

Poem 2 of 30, 2012

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