A Moist Berry
A moist berry was all I could think about.
That burst to wet my tongue.
A quenching I could drain away
for comfort that would numb.
That soul surrounding other berries
who's bowl would make them one.
Where every spoon dividing them
would make a bath undone.
And dampen all my spirits bound
for hunger that was lost.
To honor me with kisses
from a spirit now with cost.
That every bite now taken
meant a pleasure for my loss.
Meaning every cost worth making
was a work I'd do for gloss.
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