Just like you, dear, I had two lips
They used to do what I loved—
pursing, pouting, sulking or mocking
They used to release sounds that I loved
like the sweet honey oozing from a fallen jar
like an irate flame bouncing from a burning hearth.
But
now
My lips are no more than a pair of red flesh
Structured on a plastered face
They dangle a fake smile in one corner
and shed a sly shimmer like a misplaced dash
No rule shines there
No norm dances
And no sweet tweets follow even.
Are they now the lips of Dracula’s lovers
Do they sprout rage and revenge
Swelling the cheeks and wrinkling the nose
Suck your lifeblood in the dark night?
This is then your earnings, honey,
This is the return
Of stomping on my lips
on my words infinite
Umme Salma, Toowong
Salma Seclusion 