Pink Poem by Ashley Bell Pink champagne , pink lemonade Sweet to the touch but with a gentle burn of the throat at the end. She is stirring her pink lemonade-vodka With her finger and I watch as she Brings the remaining drip to her lips. Her pink lips taste like sweet, pink wine and That alone is enough to induce alcoholism on site. She smiles, notices me watching And her cheeks flush to the color of her drink; All of her is pink and it isn’t because of the vodka. She doesn’t like it that much but she wanted to try and She is glowing because she knows she is loved. Floating, she makes her way to me Across the kitchen, past pink bodies full of pink wine and beer, And she touches her pink champagne lips to the side of my cheek. Now I have flushed to the blush color of her blush cheeks And we are growing together in the middle Of a crowded kitchen at 11 pm on a Tuesday. We melt into each other like paint, Dripping down off of an artists’ brush and we Meld into one light, gentle, puddle of pink on the floor.
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