Strawberries

I take comfort from the dream:
you dip your finger into the cream
in a glass bowl of strawberries.

Ripe and sweet, the strawberries,
some of them halved — your fingers
swirl that luscious pinkness in tendrils.

Radiance: gleaming horizontal sunbeams lean
on everything, impasto from a golden brush.
You wear cotton, light, cooling clothes

that hold you in the scene, here, with me —
the cotton does; for if you were wearing gold or skies
like the sunshine, you would be my god.

You bring a berry to your lips,
hold it lightly between your thumb and forefinger
and your lips open slowly; cream drips.

And I see in your lips the same pink softness
as might be a nipple or other secret.
Lips tell all to strawberries.

[Revised, October 6, 2006]

[Original draft:]

I take comfort from the dream:
You are casually dipping your finger
Into the cream in a glass bowl of strawberries

They are ripe and sweet, the strawberries,
And some of them are halved, so your fingers
Are swirling that luscious pinkness in tendrils.

There is sun in my dream, horizontal sunbeams
Leaning on everything, impasto from a golden brush.
You are wearing cotton, light, comfortable cotton

That keeps you in the scene, there, with me
The cotton; for if you were wearing gold or skies
Like the sunshine, you would be my god.

You bring a berry to your lips,
Holding it lightly between your thumb and forefinger
And your lips open slowly; cream drips.

And I see, in your lips the same pink softness
As might be a nipple or other secret.
Lips tell all to strawberries.

The voice of the poet