The taste

plays

in

my mouth.

Raspberries red

like love

and anger,

soft like velvet.

Rapidly

I pop them

in my

mouth,

One after one,

until

they are

gone.

My tongue

fits

perfectly in

the concave shape.

Beads of fruit

dissolve, tangy

and tart on the

tip of my tongue,

then sweetness

floods

my mouth.

I swallow

and picture myself

picking

strawberries in my

grandfather's garden,

where we found

tiny frogs

under

strawberry leaves,

and picking blueberries

on a side road in Georgia with

a long forgotten

boyfriend.

And

I am hungry

for

more.