Her mouth is a color red
that requires a smoky voice
and high heels;
a red named something like
Amped Up Heat
or Naughty Naughty

a red that resembles ripe fruit,
freshly bitten cherries,
the translucent flesh
of pomegranate arils.

Her mouth is a red pout,
a first kiss
the color you envision
beneath her black dress—
red lace on milk-white skin.

You imagine that red
staining your neck, your nipples
leaving a soft ring
around your hard cock.

It is the red of her orgasm
when you fuck her hard
from behind later that night;
it is the red of shattered sheets,
of the morning after.

But right now it is a red
pursing and smiling,
biting her lips;
it is a red unknowingly
calling each others’ names;
slowly fading against the side
of her glass, into ice cubes.


Alyssa Yankwitt is a poet, photographer, teacher, bartender, documenter, and earth walker. Her poems and photographs have previously appeared in Fruita Pulp, Gingerbread House, Penwheel.lit, Yellow Chair Review, Metaphor Magazine, Red Paint Hill’s Mother Is a Verb anthology, Rogue Agent, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and Spry Literary Journal. Alyssa has incurable wanderlust, enjoys drinking whiskey, hates writing about herself in third person, and loves a good disaster.



  1. Wow!! This is amazing.. It felt like a moving picture before my eyes. This is Great work. Truly remarkable… 🙂
    Hey, I too have just begun blogging. It would be nice of you to take a look at it. A few comments are always welcome… 🙂

    looking forward for more from you.. 🙂

Comments are closed.