Who Is She

With her makeup bag left on the bus station seat,
she took off by a bus or took off by her feet.
I took hold of the bag, to return it to her.
Though, no address I found and no number to spur.

There was Dazzle Stick shining, as catching the light.
Makeup Mekka was there, as matte for blush bright.
Fenty Bronzer was there, being cheeky and bold.
Isadora Blush Stick. I saw secrets untold.

Fratboy Shadow – her face is a true mystery.
There was Mary-Lou Manizer – what history?
The Rare Beauty Foundation she let meet the eye.
And her need for concealment was Maybelline by.

Though, no lipstick I found. Maybe tucked away tight
is that stick so that lips easily take to flight.
Who is she? Who is that girl with colours so bright?
With that palette of makeup, how does she wear light?

Truly she lost her bag, though, she must have her glow.
And her lips have a story I truly would know.
What’s the hue of her smile? Is it coral? Plum? Rose?
Lipstick color is daring. To keep it she chose.

In my fantasy, lipstick lets passion reveal.
And by seeing it, maybe her charm I could feel.
Though, no address I found. No seed there is to grow.
Who she is, and how she is, I will never know.

NOTE :

This poem is referred to on the blog hop of dVerse
| here |.