Promises

Lazy smiles and smokey eyes beckon
from the glossy covers of tomorrow's mags,
print promise on my eyes
and repaint my blood red.

I watch them drape, curve
skin across fold-outs touting
cheap perfume that stinks boardrooms
and makeup that masks
blemishes deep as the soul.

I turn the page, leave them
waiting like the dreams and hopes
in my handbag. I want
world peace, and I want
the promises too.