twenty wet strawberries in a
small green crate
from the farmer's market
i balance on the front of the bike
a stranger guiding it forward
behind me
fingers grazing against fingers
smiles dancing across our faces
a cliche: we're only teenagers
cruisin' for a bruisin'
i look back to him
under the dim light
his cheeks are rosy
his lips tinted with the strawberry
i'd like to know more about you
i say
twenty wet strawberries shared
in a small plastic green crate
and two strangers
lips tinted with summer sweetness
YOU ARE READING
the soft
Poetrythey say to be soft is to be powerful but it gets harder to believe that every passing day
