Tongues stained
with blackberries
we collect kisses
falling into ditches
being stung by nettles.
Your dress snags on a briar
and you cry in mock horror.
I cut through the tangle of thorns
as if I were your Prince.
Charming me
you undo
your buttons
& you
(step out of your dress)
as if you were being
stepping out of your self.
Your dress hangs
like a chrysalis.
You let down your golden hair
& we make love then &
there...a tractor & some cows go by
we laugh & try to hide.
The sun beats down on my bum
we giggle & come
return
to the big old dirty
town
&
turn
our blackberry picking days
into luscious winter jam.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/preserve/
