I came across this on another page, but I find it quite beautiful and simple. It is from a poem by Halina Poświatowska:
"Ever since I met you, I carry a lipstick in my pocket, it
is very silly to carry a lipstick in one's pocket, when you
look at me so seriously, as if you saw in my eyes a gothic
church. But I am not any house of worship, rather a forest
and a meadow -- the tremor of leaves, which press into your
hands. Behind us, there, a brook brawls, it being the time
that is running out, and you let it stream through your
fingers, and you do not want to snare time. And when I bid
you goodbye, my unmade-up lips remain untouch