How
The Flesh
Through our toes, the slip
And grit of organic muds
This evening among strawberries
You are in your row, alongside
Studying a berry in your palm
How the flesh glows red and gives
Will its teardrop underside
Fit the open lips
As you turn it toward sky?
In your bending, ripe and green
Your breasts drip to touch
Upon the tips of grasping leaves
Will you hold me, dirty
As the sun dips pink
At the end of our rows?
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