|The Blackberry Poems
It is not blackberries or rain
or wine or brandyit is
you on my lips the scent
of cream-blue dawn the taste
of woman, you, the earth spring
the lingering taste of living that
days and years and pages of calendars
and nightmares and miles of mountains
and ten thousand showers
cannot wash away.
soaked in rain or sweet white cream
in a flaming brandy sauce
in your belly button
down the zipper of your jeans
balanced on the pucker of your lips
in between your toes
spread like jam over your breasts
I eat you blackberry
bitter or sweet
your juice running down my chin.
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