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In a blue bowl
below the new-morning sky,
I bruise the tip of a strawberry
slowly cutting it into raw brown granules,
listening to a waking mewl.
Let's go we can't why not?

I tuck the sweet in the corner
of my shirt tail and twist
the sugartit for the bawling baby
to suck. In a sudden quiet
away from the noisy stain of juice,
daylight rises from china blue mountains,
speeds down high valleys to our porch.
Why do I still want to fuck you
when we already have a child?

      — Sherry Saye