Blueberries
In the ripening air, petite blueberries of delight,
Barely ready to be devoured, so sour, float to me
and I catch each one with my mouth and I smush them.
Pulpy goodness almost satisfies. I tingle
like a dog during winter's first sprinkle.
The smallest - the sourest, are the hardest.
The sweetest I can mash with my lips alone.
My cresting tongue would like to savor.
Copyright © Noah Dugan | Year Posted 2017
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