Strawberry

What if I could taste
the seeded coating of your lips
and watch the juices run red
against the pale surface of your skin,
tracing your heart and
counting the beats to match
the trembling of your mouth as it
opens timidly to receive a kiss
and be crushed to mine with only
a semblance of summer rationality
against the harvest season
as the fruit ripens,
waiting to be plucked and eaten.