Lipstick Click

My screen goes black, a pixelated yawn,

my thumb is numb, my eyes are raw and drawn.

I dig inside my bag, a leather pit,

for something real, a tiny, vibrant hit.

My lipstick tube, a cheap one, smudged and worn,

a tiny twist, a promise to be born

again, less tired, less a ghost in white.

I turn the base, pull color into light.

It drags across my mouth, a waxy stripe,

a fleshy bloom, a feeling warm and ripe.

Then click, the cap, a solid, final sound.

No notifications. Just my feet on ground.