Saturday, July 19

The Vine


move through thorns
past copperheads
without being pricked
draw back a fistful of blackberries
warmed by the midday sun

a tangy, sweet squish in your mouth
the flavor of purple in summer
lauds over the aubergine scarf
now hanging limply in the corner
like a barren vine or slumbering snake

1 comment:

rachel said...

I'd love to be berry picking right now, eating handfuls of them, staining my fingers...