A puff of powder,  a dab of lipstick
and sprinkle
of ozone-friendly aerosol to keep my hair subdued,
there is little that hasn’t been said
about what goes on inside
a Poet’s head; one suspects a double death,
for outside
even the sourwood blushes.

Photo credits: Marqquin, Unsplash

Posted for Quadrille #119 @ dVerse Poets Pub