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Wet Lips


Melinda Smith

A poem about the first sip of beer.

The first sip, I touched the glass
Cold against my lips, pressing
down hard on the tongue
Holding head back, I let it fill up
the inside of my mouth,
and swallowed it whole
that bitter taste,
forces me to shut my eyes
I felt her fingertips gently around the glass
underneath my wet chin
as she wiped away the dribble stains
running down my neck
so that’s what it’s like,
drinking beer out of a glass
Better, I winked at her, than through a bloody straw!

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This story is tagged under:

Life Choices
Taking Part
Sex and Your Body
Safety and violence
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