strawberry jam

Picture This:

A strawberry groom with his strawberry wife,

a strawberry room in this strawberry life

Red walls with yellow polka-dot seeds

with a green ceiling as the leaves

There's white lace all over the place

and berry-themed sheets on the vine-covered bed,

iced over with a hand-knit blanket,

lookalike to the green gingham fabric scarf

tucked under the metal top

of a glass mason jar

with icky, sticky sap inside

begging to seep out

and slip all over old fingers,

making their hands stick like glue

And in these shimmering mornings

he’ll put strawberry jam on toast,

grape jelly on sandwiches,

and orange marmalade on mini cakes;

All sorts of peaches and preserves in their cupboard.

Sitting out on their back porch

of that blue house with the red door,

bitter coffee with sweet cream

or milk with chocolate syrup in hand

As the sun rises

they’ll stand outside it,

her in pink and him in blue

and a mischievous youngling

dressed in a striped pumpkin hue

Rolllling down

tender hills of cuddly grass blades

Let the breeze embrace

their exposed limbs ‘til they’re hilly

and he can rub her bare shoulders

while she warms his forearms

to chase those silly

goose bumps away.

...this is it,

the scene that’s set

This is it,

the dream we’ve dreamt

Our riveting rouge fruit

climbing stems along the building’s sides

boiling over,

steaming foam

to mark this place we’ve called our own

I sigh;

Your chest is the best possible pillow,

There is no waiting

for a Sunday morning

where the yellow rays soak into covers,

hot serenity in this life

of waking up beside my lover.