you taste like ripe strawberries
i used to pick in the fields as a little girl
crouched down in the rows of plants
lost in the red and the green and the dirt
my pint basket half empty at my feet
stolen fruit, juice on my chin
guilty eyes, shaking hands
hoping I won't get caught
that my youth and loveliness
will excuse me from theft
I hope the berries I pay for
will be half as sweet
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