I love the sweetness of a perfect strawberry;
shaped like a heart, tinted the exact color of love.
Red, like the lips of Snow White in the fairy tale.
I wonder, did her lips taste like strawberries
when the prince kissed her back to life?
Would he remember the sugared taste of her
in his dreams?
Did they really live happily ever after?
Or was that kiss more like the tartness
of a fruit before its time?
One that puckers the soul,
leaving one wishing that more time had been given,
before it was plucked from the field.
Or maybe this strawberry had gone bad.
Left too long in the sun,
in the glass casket.
Red as blood, but soft as decay,
a moldering aroma added to the tongue,
to the heart.
One never knows what one will get
when it comes to love or strawberries.

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