Strawberry

The color seemed off.
Not that it was too red, or too pale,
But that it was too
Perfect.
An exact shade of pinkish red
That one would associate with this fruit.
Like a crayon from a box,
With the name Strawberry inked
In block letters by its base.

The seeds were a well-spaced pattern,
Like sequins on a designer gown,
Scattered.

Even the temperature was curiously flawless.
Refrigerated, but not obscenely cold.
Have you ever had to lick ice crystals
Off an otherwise delicious piece of fruit?
It alters the experience
Negatively.

I pressed the berry to my bottom lip,
Testing the softness.
Pinching the leaves, I opened my mouth.
Bit down.
Into a delectable fraise.



Poetry by Katherinee x
Read 689 times
Written on 2012-01-16 at 22:11

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Brian Oarr
I'm grinning at your poetic prowess. A poem with just the correct amount of metaphor.

Just a thought ... poetry no longer requires that the start of each line be capitalised ... and here I thought it quite unnecessary.

Otherwise ... I dug it!

Brian
2012-01-17


jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
It is always delicious to think of berries in January.
Especially this way.
2012-01-16


countryfog
. . . and a delectable poem. That you can express an unabashed joy at a simple thing that most of us take for granted is a testament not only to your craft but your sensibility, both of which are an uncommon treat.
2012-01-16