November 23, 2013 at 10:34 pm
filed under love, poetry, writing
Tagged history, love, poetry
Seeing you is like apple picking.
Tree to tree hayride on bumpy ground
Spitting exhaust fumes and jerking
rosy faces who enjoy the instability
like a special occasion holiday,
dodging the last bees of summer,
Grinning through the straw poking holes
through the seats of our jeans,
and then rushed to a muddy halt,
and herded off the wagon two by two,
we have only a moment while it idles
to discover our perfect specimens –
You carefully prod through branches,
passing unsatisfying picked-over fruit,
juicy reds & greens until you find the perfect one
you pull off and hold up like a trophy.
Climbing back in, so proud, you crunch your first bite,
tasting the sweetest, tartest, coolest
first kiss blushing embarrassment
and every slow bite is a different memory
til it’s gone and nibbled sweetly to the core,
which you toss out the side, and continue your ride.
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