Cusp

beneath the shade of that immortal summer,

she blushes, full and wild and bursting

until the sweet, the sweet that comes from almost rotten

she ripens between your branches

a laugh, a laugh that sates the hunger

the kind that drips down your chin

and stains, she stains your skin with cherryblood

you reach her core, do you spit out her seed?

do you feel the tender purple underneath?

remember it, remember it, in some forever November

and savor, endure, devour,

the fruits of her labor, amid forgotten spoil,

she blossoms anyway