
Harvest
Your voice sounded enchanting
on the phone
that warm day in August
and I dreamed of grapevines
and ripen grapes
full of sugar and drunkenness
and in the cool shade
under the plane trees
along the babbling brook
I imagined
your body that I liked to touch
and from your nipples
that I longed to taste
their sweetness and drunkenness to suckle