such ripe and heavy jewels.
Red flesh made redder in the heat,
brilliant against the flat, unbroken blue.
The tart reprieve, the shock to the tongue:
this is late summer’s slow exhalation.
A season fading, curling at the edges.
August will die, sun-baked and broken.
The great phoenix, September, will rise.
Stain me with your fruit, blood and secrets.
Keep me wanting,
Pale flesh made red.
Bruise me blue.
Face down ,
muffled by the earth.
spent in the shade of the raspberry canes.