To Watch Her Lips
She prefers reds,
both in wine and lips,
the cherried variations
staining my thoughts,
as though the puckered print
she leaves behind on her
glass is inerasable.
I pick up the stem
she drank from, knowing
the scarlet imprint on its rim
will soon be washed away;
reminding me of our inevitable
parting of ways, not the
parting of lips which I could
dream of, had I the courage
to say so.
But my lips stay closed,
protecting those few moments I can
steal without her knowing;
thinking of rubies and fire trucks,
strawberries and flame,
forever in my mind
a stop sign.
Walk Me Away
I’ve never worn a pair of fuck-me-heels,
those three inch spikes that whores or
desperate women wear. The wanting
glances that travel - screaming sexy
from the ground up. I need just one pair
to take the plaintive part of me
away, one swaying step at a time.
If only my wish could walk me away,
straight-spined from masculine temptations
that tear away the truth of me, how easily
I let them justify their use of my body;
hands lingering too long and too low.
The shoes I own are sneakers; old
enough I should toss in the trash, but can’t
because these are the soles that do me
some good; keeping my pace, the steady climb
on the road toward a virtue which I can only dream.
Yvonne Strumecki is a singer and writer living in New York City. Her poetry has appeared in Fearless Books’ anthology “Touching: Poems of Love, Longing, and Desire” and Another Chicago Magazine’s Issue 50, Vol 2. She has also toured nationally as a singer. You can find out more by visiting www.yvonnestrumecki.com.