try to remember what she wore in the morning
her name in a song carnival sounds
after the shaved ice a glimpse of her thigh
the shade of her lipstick matches her scar
the oddness of her garments when it rained
an invented memory of losing her number
her name worked in silver hangs from her neck
the color of the makeup covering her scars
melt down the candle to mold her face
her half-empty glass among all the others
Red Dragonfly 
tres cool! & nice to see the MELISSA book found out last night. this piece is as loaded as fiction-but-poetry. congratulations!
Fiction but poetry. Hmm. Lots of food for thought there.