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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Helen Kitson

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Lipstick

Why am I hitting him?
the smear on his collar,
the lipstick bullet in his pocket,
the thought of her lips on his -

but it's glossy maroon
worn to a greasy stump,
interestingly dark -
I imagine a woman with stubby fingers
(short red nails)
pressing lipstick on tetchily
after sex:
kissing takes your lipstick off,
why can't they leave your mouth alone?
Lips look better coloured.

I don't think she wears other make-up,
she just has this maroon gash,
this hole in her face
which can spit
& swear -
I like to see a woman's bright lips
framing words,
the four letter words,
the sexual demands -

she left this sticky mess
for me to find
& I sit in front of the mirror
& press it to my lips -
I've got lips the size of Oklahoma.

White moon,
red scar.
I think I look sexy.
I know what she smells like;
she's pressed to my lips.

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