Fair and mirthful

round and fearless

voluptuous mountains of juicy flesh caress green kindred coiffure

Slumbering, dreaming, throbbing in our

square plastic palace

Waiting for rain that blooms into lips, teeth

a new afterlife in Earth’s supple womb.

The strawberries poke cold and wet on the tip of her nose

(the nose itself, it should be noted, is also cold and wet)

The strawberries nod as if dimly reminiscing upon a time

when a feline like herself punctured one of their kin

A tasteless error, but one that spewed

crimson juice, a stream, perhaps a scream

nearly imperceptible beneath the wind.

This table is just the perfect size

for her to plant herself and watch the proceedings with her nose

The rustling of bags, the laboring of pantry shelves

Meanwhile

if she is voluptuous like a strawberry

or a beautiful woman

her mind is too beautiful to know.

A martian crater

I fill it with cosmic flakes

squeeze in a fat-free precipitation of atmospheric milk.

Like meteors, the strawberries pass

the star gate of my clear-cut knife

and fall in slender shreds upon

this strange new planet

where my spaceship has landed

at this delicate time

to seal in optimum flavor

tightly

behind closed lips

painted strawberry red.

The photos in this post were both taken by Rasputina2 on Flickr.

For more poetry and fewer recipes visit aseaworthyfrigate.wordpress.com.