A Lost Letter to Lips by Alex Lalli (17, Georgia)

Pursing around the bite of berries.
Staining them a new bruise. 
The wholeness of a shower song.
How it swells from my mouth
like a steamed balloon. 
Swallowing all that hot air, 
hollowing me through. ​

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Burning through a cup of chamomile.
The hot kiss to the rim, tender as
back bones through skin. 
How my pink pout tears through
heat with inexperience. 
A baby tearing through thighs,
stupid and shaking. 
The way your eyes held them still
and whispered through music,
pounding thick as a throat, 
the idea of touching. 
I wish you needed to breathe me, to
sip the space between my teeth.
How “No” rounds yours kind, but
“Yes” wrings mine insignificant.
The thought that smiling makes
stretch marks down your face. How
my mother stabs her wrinkles and
​sucks the smile away. 
The stiffness of a sheet of flesh
when it’s winter, and I don’t need
Carmex because it smells sour,
and we don’t speak. 
Why I bloom blood 
from their terse, dirt cracks, 
all in the quiet shape of a peony,
the wilting one you gave to me.
How I drink from them, 
tender wounds as April dew diffused.
It’s spring now, and I wonder if I bite
down hard enough, 
can you taste them in the air?
Scared like a raw thing, 
the smallest part of me.

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I'm Alex Lalli (she/her), a 17 year old senior at The Westminster School in Atlanta, GA. Writing is one of the most important parts of my life and something I truly cherish. At school, I'm the head editor of our literary magazine Evolutions, which seeks to workshop and publish any student writing in a manner that preserves the author's genuine voice. I also founded the school's Writing Club, which provides a space for writers to generate work freely and receive feedback.