Such voluptuous prime
in the lusts of melons,
in their melancholic
burst of sweetness,
such strawberries melting in my mouth,
luscious,
fomented by the taste of your tongue's achenes
like the small colourful pebbles
in the tang of a clear river
crunching softy as the feathers.
such cherries
shaking hands for their juicy twin love.
Such colours
surrogate fruit for blossoms,
and again reinvigorate
in the wing of butterflies,
in the sweet after taste of
honey on your tongue.
Such colours
that fruits taste
as nectarous and flashy in their Still Life,
hanging on the walls of my remembrance
as they were still clinging
to their branches of their birth.
