A dark crescent stain
on the neck of his coffee cup
and his own neck.

We all leave our marks,
our imprints,
an indentation;
in this poem,
in his life,
in her memory.

He asked me to
hide my berry lipstick,
to bury it in my palms,
clutch it between the sweat and odor
of my hands
told me that my face needs no
artificial color.
So I stained my lips purple that night,
dipped in red wine and sugar,
a mark that still
giggles in its wake
on his own possessions.

-Taru Gupta


By berry, by purple, I mean power.

If you enjoy reading my work, please like this poem, share, comment your thoughts and follow my blog for more poetry content.


Creative Commons License
Berry by Taru Gupta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

16 thoughts on “Berry

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