i am sure it was blueberry love
because it stained my white hanes t-shirt
cold water, hot water i did not know
and i did not bother
it was when it was over
that i used a bleach that was tougher.


tainted love with blueberry ink
lasting but one season
dark fruit juices dripping out
from the corners of our mouth
our lips were covered by the berries
all mashed up between our kiss.


funny how i look at the tree
standing still on blueberry hill
now just an outline of withered branches
dead and dry like our blueberry love
once so sweet but now so fermented.


i am drunk of fermented blueberry
doesn' t taste good at all
but i feel so happy much like honey.


the tree is no longer a tree
split apart by dehydration and poverty
where is our love that once danced
beneath the now dead, blueberry tree.




*the last of the amour pénible series.
(Published: The Taj Mahal Review 2003)

01/03/2002

Posted on 01/03/2002
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