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.