When it was summer,
we strolled down alleyways of strawberries—
curious eyes, whisper huskily I am your best girl—
I sat in your hands, plaid soft,
you pulled out strawberries
(believing them to be rubies),
and we sat together, nestled. In the curve,
on the river bank, your lips
red and puckered
drew blood fervently—
crimson nectar kissed ardor down your jaw.
Our kisses were sugar sweet—
leaves enfolding like blankets,
arms clasping us in waxy brilliance.
When it rained,
I closed my eyes for love of sweet miracles—
sheltered in your jacket, wondering how
your skin smelled so fresh picked.
I learned then, that a person can be understood
by the rhythms of their heartbeat.
Rain licking tulips down our legs.
I worry I'll lose your
hoarse voice whispering my name,
square hands running down my back,
strawberry kisses on my cheek.
When the summer dies—
strawberries rotting in the field,
let's get in the car,
and find a new, never-ending harvest.