Teri Lavelle


Rejoice fertile fruit!

Your summer opulence,

perfumed and shapely,

still sparks romantic interludes.

Sun drenched and idle,

your wanton hue whets lips.

Your rosy fragrance joins hands,

sweet and pinkened from a picnic’s tattoo.

You— whose innards are outward,

whose freckles on rich soft flesh

fix your immortality,

you— whose humble title

humbles your lustrous legacy.

You taste of memories ripe and passionate.