of Juniper berries
with hair flaxen and lips
of cherries turn from emerald
green to purple-black. But once

they turn they do not go
back. Swollen lil' violet orbs wish to
be the next in Forbes. Sharp and clear
with tongue to bite, like aged gin

leave you ****** at night. Hanging
on tailored trees, the fertile seeds
spread as autumn leaves. Food for
the waxwings and thrushes. The painter

airbrushes it on fences and lawns
from dusk till dawn. All are drawn
to the splendor, the sailor's call
the weaker gender!