Wild Cherry

She reminds me of
Mother’s cherry ice cream –
rich, ripe, and sweet
flowing out of a skimpy cone
designed to hold one in place
yet like fluid
flows out of course –
sweet as sweet can be.

She lingers
like a cherry stained tongue
on a guilty child before supper

see my tongue is pink
but mom knows it’s red
Under hot sun
kisses the mouth
the nose,
splatters on chest and clothes
dyeing finger tips
and shirts
coloring tongues and
pinking lips