The Poet’s Fall
She leans forward and kisses him. He savors the taste of her lips – smacks his own to enhance the flavour and make permanent the memory he is creating. When he opens his eyes again she smiles before him.
“So, how was it?”
“It tastes like raspberries
hidden in overgrown blueberries
plucked from a Summer field
on a lovely Autumn’s night.”
“I can’t imagine such a thing”
“No. It is a place of dreams.”
– F H Hakansson
F. H. Hakansson 
Naw that is shhho shweet 😛 “tastes like raspberries hidden in overgrown blueberries” – love it! 😀
I finally wrote a “happy” poem I am content with. Pheew! 😀
I tell you, writing a happy poem is never that easy.
Perhaps, we are too busy savoring those moments to write about them 😀
Nice poem 🙂
Thank you! 🙂 Yes, I guess we are, and as we write about them we feel no words could ever do our experience justice.
Fine whimsy.
Cage of a poet? 🙂
It’s a cage of love 😉