The Edge of The Pier

A tube
of colored grease,
and seduction
Twirls,
between gel manicured fingers
Like a tiny, fat baton,
ready to catch fire
on full lips
softly kissing a secret
temporary tattoo
on soft skin,
of inexperience,
Or,
the smooth hard surface
of a 50 year old
hotel room mirror
Thank you,
Or goodbye
Vital lip prints
of fluid young women
taking  strangers for a ride
under opaque cover
of starless,
polluted skies
as the mocking
of the seagull's mew
mimics the laughter
of adulterous spirits
at the edge of the pier

Julia Masi