Is there any way to beat
the full, lush perfection
of a plump, nectarous strawberry?
The divinity of it as it hemorrhages in the mouth
is comparable only to the first rush of sexual culmination
or the sudden release of pain.
Cumulous clouds of blooming lilac
inspire the air with purplish balm.
The scented curlicues dance through the gauzy sheers
to the rhythm of youthful hearts and the summer equinox.
The joyful cracks and flashes of early summer
thunderous rumblings play like stirring music,
whilst the whispers of water kissing the grass with
wet, clapping smacks lull the wide-eyed to gentle slumber.
Wafting down the streets and into open windows
are the crooked, spiced hazy fingers of grilled steak
as it sizzles and pops, summoning lustful hunger.
Even those who are chaste in the matters of meat
must appreciate the sultry nature of this aroma.
It tantalizes and teases with its sinful spark and spit.
The chirps and chants of happy songbirds
cause the listeners to crane their necks to hear.
We believe we understand their language,
as a oneness with the winged seems possible today.
Inconceivable that there be grief on a day
that shines as bright as this.
There must be exemptions from death and despair
when the sun strokes and cuddles pallid skin.
Only birth and its celebration seem
fitting when the night seems lost forever.
The sun stubbornly refuses to bleed into the horizon.
Orange and violet skies are made more luminous by
the joyful candles that glow below.
The rich and decadent cakes boast sugary prose and flora
intended for the beloved and the ravenous.
Nights that cloak us in quiet and cold
seem other worlds away.
This coming eve will be full of warmth and perfume.
I dream of rolling on the grass until morning.
– Tara Teeling