your kiss was as tasty
as strawberry sauce.
but was it your tongue
or just your lipgloss?

your hair smelled of wild flowers,
sickly sweet and divine.
your perfume was so rustic,
like a soft scented pine.

your eyes sparkled bright
like the overhead stars.
with you softly singing,
and me strumming guitar.

we danced until morning,
skinny dipped in the stream.
it all seemed so perfect,
could it be just a dream?

our nights that summer,
i won't soon forget
the memories we made
or the girl that i met.

strawberry flavored pancakes and milk
and her under the beige umbrella on the patio licking the red top off the maple syrup bottle

dinner never tasted so good


- Martha Grace Hsieh and Daniel J. Flore III

Waking up,
The smell of strawberries
Marries the air
And infatuates me into
An early morning's lust;
I'm in paradise.

Holding your hand,
Fingers intertwined,
As the radio plays
And we stay with the beat.

Leaning in,
This is the moment;
Strawberries flood
My tastebuds,
And then you blew a bubble to the size of your face.

Bathing in bubbles
That are scent-less,
And I'm senseless
And my hands roam
And your mind leaves this world.

A fire burns
And seven bodies
Bare witness to newborn
Affection-
And I swear a star was too.

But I'll never see that star.
That taste seems so vague.
I came in and burst your bubble-
Tastes sweet
Until the flavor faded.

So here we are,
A bubblegum kiss later,
With a layer between us.

The first bite of a strawberry,
bulbous soft ruby,
tastes so extremely bitter
as your friendship was to me
that after several berries,
my tongue dissolves the sour
sting of disappointment
slowly
diminishing.

your body, the drain plug,
that climactic days of a day
murky sweet strawberry milk water
ebbs and sways
around, surrounds, and surmounts you

Your body the dumping ground
for pretty poppy seeds
seep, steep
seeded somewhere deep

as

synthetic stinging metaphor rain
pours on your mistreated singing skin
spotted, dotted, synaptic rule
akin to lemon poppy seed muffin tops
your head- a top
spins round
and mimics
never-ending bath drain whirlpool

ambulances and ambivalences soundtrack
this nocturne
night of a morning
mourning already
my poor lost sister
a little less than intact
lost in her head
I'm loosing her

and she's nodding

            and she's nodding

                          and she's nodding

                                    and she's nodding
and she nods
and grumbles,
fumbles for words that aren't there
four words that aren't there
forward isn't there

because what do you say
about matters
when your high
and breathing last breaths overlapping
in humble showers
in heart crumbling nakedness
your faithlessness trapping
murky sweet strawberry milk waters.

i take my first bite,
smile because
i am about to
mar something whole.
it sits against my tongue,
hard palate freezing,
ice cream melting,
strawberry crushed to pulp.
cream goes down my throat.

i take a second bite,
wait like the first time,
get impatient, chew—
seeds get stuck in my teeth.
a third bite, a fourth,
fifth, pause—
hover and hesitate.
the air is cold
against my lips.

i bite—strawberry,
cream, seeds, ice, oh—
i hit wood.

1.
Look! two butterflies entangled
in the thick of love, try extricating,flapping wings
girl, forget you're a doctor,let love resolve it.
2.
A strawberry touches her lips,
astonished I stop eating my peach;
where does the fruit end, her lips begin?
3.
Your dad is conservative,
mother is moderately appreciative,
every move of amour, has to be  politically sensitive.
4.
On this bikini your body prattles,
a language unintelligible through, I am all ears,
darling, make your body speak, the lingo it truly appreciates.
5.
Water nymph, your bodyhugging dress
simultaneously does myriad things,
talks erotica, tries seduction,makes me a fool fumbling for words.

She came home and said
something like
Hey how you doing
But I didn’t tell her
that I have been
indulging in a
sweet and sour
strawberry string
sadness
there is a living ghost
on Facebook
and I can’t decide if
it is wrong to unfriend
the dead
so that I am not reminded
about the countdown
of my own mortality
or of my family
like a sordid experiment
so she said something
about the weekend
which produces guilt
for a spoil I haven’t committed
in the spot in my mind
that is addicted to
a strawberry string sadness
where Netflix plays
and the dent on my side
of the bed becomes more
pronounced
While I try and decide
about a living ghost
what is wrong and what is
right in this media induced
******* that develops from
beta to final release to a total
sadness 2.0

Blackberry kisses,
stinging strawberry cuts,
and raspberry colored veins.
If only the shape of your lips
had been as perfect as the
cherry I'm ******* on.
Unfortunately, the golden apple
hue that your soul radiated
was only momentary.