To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Ripe When berries are ripe they crush under their own sweet weight. I ripen in the same laden way with sugar rime that glistens crystal around the tender edges. It’s a late harvest to be hand picked. Roll the dust off lush lust and feed me too. |
Additional Notes:
Previously published on thepoetsguild.com
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!