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i.

Life is short, eat dessert first --

at dawnlight, sooner.

Strawberry between your teeth,

held, swallowed deliberately,

the way you circled

your tongue soft and definite,

exploring one nipple,

tasting my body, skin,

strawberries, the blush

and sugar

of each on each.

ii.

Find strawberries. Halve,

then quarter carefully,

layer them in sugar.

The juice will firm to syrup.

And now trust me on

a teaspoon-dash of balsamic

and blackpepper dusting.

Fold well together for

a recipe

                  of balance.

Spice-flecks nip gently

at the berry edges,

softening the geometric

syntheses of fruit and sweet,

while rich amber curls

into red and white angles,

maturing in the bowl

to slow golden pink -- like

fresh familiar kisses --

ripened, new, complex.

iii.

I returned inspired

to eat strawberries --

on my walk, the sky

blossomed pink (a pink

that sang like fruit),

burned out ashy

as sun kindled

treeline and slid down

to the other side of the world.

So I sliced small berries

into halves, found

pale triangles and

traced white ribs

from heart to edge.

Each pink recalled

dusky sky and skin,

the dawnlight when we first

ate strawberries together

on the other side of the world.