I have a tube of lipstick,
it’s called “Double Espresso.”
It’s a glimmery, reddish brown.
A Fall color.
But that never mattered to me,
breaker of trend-rules.
I had bought it in the Fall, and wore it often,
until I found a new favorite.
Which kind of resembles every decision I make.
I found it again recently,
and was taken back when I opened the tube.
Its scent, which does not resemble coffee at all,
a sort of sweet smell you wouldn’t expect of lipstick,
brought me back to the Fall.
It brought me back to you.
The first night I wore it was the night that many could claim as
our best night.
The first night I saw you after you returned from your trip,
the night I wore that dress,
the night you took my hands and wanted to dance
in the silent, empty room.
It brought me back to all those nights,
during our highest of peaks,
before we dropped, and lost each other in the deepest valley.
It’s amazing how a smell,
a forgotten tube of lipstick,
could make me that lovestruck girl again
for an instant,
and remind me how the Fall was yours,
and apparently always will be.