Rinsed Lips

Estella won’t believe me,

but I tried, tried to eye a fixated gaze

that charred camouflaged intention

in tranquil illustrations,

clashing with the depth of brutal waves,

of a last red eye,

over black and white tint rests a catalyst,

wearing a jean jacket with a desire

for someone, something more than friends,

something more than I thought I had to give,

something that I didn’t recognize.

I had baggage that transcended the pin

that I could point the blame.

Estella shook me on a first date

as she leaned over my side of the table,

and gave me a kiss that I couldn’t shake,

a kiss of which I’ll never rinse my lips.

Soft music played as Estella made my life complete.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://drinkcoffeewrite.online/

Twitter: AC0040