Sweet rose lemonade
stings my throat, and I pucker
my lips to catch every kiss.
The winsome pink drink
has a tart name and I taste you
or the girl-
my third year of college.
Our mouths hum each other’s heartbeats
with door wide open
and boys’ eyes rush over us
faster than our feet.
Sexuality bloom from gentle pink cheeks,
and I press my lips against the cool glass;
slowly drink down my sweet pink lemonade.
Poetic Trials 