Outlasting Life

A slightly different art.

Make-up was her second face
for years. She lightly applied
blush for rosy cheeks. Perhaps
embarrassment or coyness.
A spent life being overturned
scrounging for seconds like change.
Another foundation, another skin tone
supplement to confer humanity.
His dead body survives for another night's
celebration because of her art.
She kisses his cold lips and counts the remaining
seconds until work is over.

Reviews

[MusicMartyrs]

i considered that profession at one point, i loved makeup but hated people. i like the perspective that your poem gives.