She smacked her red tinted lips today,
As an evening crawled away in Bombay,
The eye liners inflated her beauty,
The room smelled funky and fruity,
The mascara thickened her eyelashes,
She flinched at the memory flashes,
Retracing the lipstick with an eloquent trim,
Perfectionist by birth, she did it for him,
After the cosmetic display of artistry,
She opened a book as big as a registry,
The grainy pages had started to wear away,
Memories dwindled too, in a dreary decay,
She gawked at him, they met today too,
In the book, where memories turn anew,
After an hour of serene soothing sob,
She swirled open a mirror doorknob,
Her tears had tarnished her elder outlook,
One of the major cons of that photo book,
Her heaved breaths grew, she racked,
At the only cosmetic that was intact,
The vermilion remained radiant and full of life,
A symbol of him, her life as a widowed wife.
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