Ode to Strawberries

May 30, 2011
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Asleep in a bed of nettles rest
strawberries,
dripping their red,
sweet poison,
singing their unheard tune,
through wine-colored lips,
drawn with flesh in pink stripes,
cuts and slashes
bleed its passion,
embers mold its thin armor,
a drunken berry spilling
love and juice,
its coolness
shades the hills and valleys,
its beauty fills the
riverbeds, stomachs of the poor,
listening to a heart’s melody
ring in its porous ears,
as the rose inside
unravels its scarlet threads,
and blood,
flows through
the bars of its confinement.





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