When I smeared my lips entirely with brilliant scarlet paste,
they looked voluptuous and mesmerizing; but they produced obnoxious blemishes on whatever I kissed.
When I applied stringent white chalk powder on the intricate periphery of my lips,
They looked comically distorted; enticing innumerable individuals to bestow upon me a plethora of frivolous smiles.
When I dipped my lips in an infectiously sweet mixture of molten jaggery,
They looked tantalizingly intense; with a battalion a red ant clambering with euphoric fervor to devour the same.
As I stuck my supple lips to fresh acrylic paint projecting from the chiseled wall,
They appeared stitched to each other in a vise like embrace; depriving me of the indispensable ability to speak.
When I applied a curry of black pungent mud on my articulately sculptured lips,
I resembled a bedraggled ragamuffin on the street; with pedestrians mistaking my identity for a homicidal beggar.
When I rubbed my lips in lush green blades of wild grass,
They acquired a poignantly slimy texture; prompting me to obstreperously sneeze.
When I submerged my lips in steaming hot frosty milk,
They developed peels of innocuous milk; and I looked like an organism having just taken birth.
When I painted my luscious lips in a concentrated extract of carbon ink,
The outcome was ludicrously funny; I seemed like a novice at writing literature; and the stains were intractably cumbersome to remove.
When I applied a blend of cement and water to my lips,
They amalgamated together like a solid rock; and it became virtually invincibly to separate them.
And eventually when I passionately kissed the lips of my beloved,
There were thunderous fires igniting frigid arenas of my persona,
My lips now looked enchanting after marathon hours of being lackluster, and for the first time I uninhibitedly smiled.